I 


a 
£ 

en 


LETTERS 


OF  THE  LATE 


LORD  LYTTLETON, 


ONLY  SON  OF  THE  VENERABLE  GEORGE,  LORD  LYT- 
TLETON, AND  CHIEF  JUSTICE  IN  EYRE,  &c. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


Cfte  3f it#t  American  ambition. 


TO  WHICH  IS  NOW  ADDED, 

A  MEMOIR  CONCERNING  THE  AUTHOR,  INCLUDING 
AN  ACCOUNT  OF  SOME  EXTRAORDINARY  CIR- 
CUMSTANCES ATTENDING"  HIS  DEATH. 


TROY,  N.  Y. 

PRINTED  AND  SOLD  BY  WRIGHT,  GOODENOW,  &  STOCKWELL, 
AT  THE  RENSSELAER  BOOK-STORE. 

1807. 


Black 
nex 


PREFACE  ' 


TO   THE   FIRST   AMERICAN   EDITION. 


IN  presenting  to  the  publick  an  edition 
of  these  elegant  letters,  the  publishers  enter- 
tain hopes  of  gratifying  the  admirers  of  fine 
writing  with  an  American  copy  more  correct 
than  most  of  those  hitherto  imported,  and  in 
a  dress  and  form  at  least  as  suitable  for  a  gen- 
tleman's library.  As  the  introduction  to  the 
English  edition  is  inserted  in  this,  they  will 
not  descant  on  the  masterly  style  of  these  let- 
ters, the  motives  and  manner  of  their  publi- 
cation, &:c.  further  than  to  remark,  that  this 
is  a  work  which  every  scholar,  ambitious  of 
acquiring  the  best  language  for  writing  and 
conversation,  and  every  lover  of  belles  lettres, 
should  purchase  and  peruse. 

But  as  some  fastidious  sectarian  may  deem 
the  work  too  gay  for  Christian  readers,  or  too 
profuse  in  free  and  open  exposures  of  meretri- 
cious character  for  the  present  laxity  of  morals, 
the  publishers  cannot  refrain  from  the  declara- 
tion of  an  opposite  opinion.  For,  when  a  man, 
surrounded  with  the  trappings  of  nobility,  the 
patronage  of  courts,  and  the  dignity  of  office  and 


C  iv  3 

hereditary  titles — idolized  by  a  powerful  and 
most  respectable  family — flattered  and  caress- 
ed by  the  political  and  literary  world — placed 
at  the  head  of  gallantry  and  etiquette  by  the 
fashionable  circles  of  his  country — endowed 
with  strong  and  capacious  natural  powers  of 
mind,  improved  by  a  good  education — graced 
with  the  manners  of  high  life  and  the  fasci- 
nating suavity  of  a  courtier — sporting  the 
equipage  of  a  nobleman,  and  loaded  with  the 
treasures  of  a  prince — and  blooming  in  youth 
and  vigour : — when  such  a  man  starts  on  the 
career  of  libertine  pleasures  and  dissipation  : 
and  when,  with  all  these  advantages  and  re- 
commendations, and  with  all  these  means  of 
compassing  his  ends  without  fear  of  earthly 
punishment,  or  hindrance  in  his  progress  ;  he 
fails  ;  he  loathes  the  pleasures  he  ravished  and 
enjoyed ;  he  finds  no  lasting  repose  or  satis- 
faction ;  he  laments  his  irregular  and  licentious 
conduct ;  he  declares  it  at  all  times  and  in  all 
circumstances  dishonourable  and  distressing  ; 
he  envies  the  chaste  pleasures  of  the  virtuous 
and  discreet ;  he  deprecates,  in  pathetick  terms, 
his  own  folly  and  wickedness  ;  and  declares, 
that  no  felicity  or  rewards  can  reach  any  but 
pure,  chaste,  and  upright  minds — when  such 
is  discovered  to  be  the  inward  situation  of  this 


C  v] 

man,  who  will  dream  of  happiness  in  pur- 
suits like  these  ?  Or  who  will  imbibe  a  bad 
sentiment,  or  adopt  an  errour  in  principle, 
from  so  odious  an  example  ? 

Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As  to  be  hated  needs  but  to  be  setn. 

And  thou,  vain  man,  who  sayest  to  thyself, 
"  I  will  riot  on  the  bounty  of  creation,  and 
revel  in  the  luxuriance  of  feeling  and  affection; 
I  will  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  youth,  beauty, 
and  sensibility,  unrestrained  by  the  shackles  of 
civil  or  religious  rites  and  institutes,  unawed 
by  the  frowns  of  virtue,  and  undisturbed  by 
the  anathemas  of  conscience,  reason,  and  reli- 
gion"— pause  for  a  moment,  and  reflect !  Are 
thy  prospects  of  satisfaction  and  delight  in  licen- 
tious life  so  bright  as  were  young  Lyttleton's  ? 
And  dost  thou  longer  think  of  inward  peace 
here,  or  of  justification  hereafter  ?  Read,  then, 
and  learn  thy  folly  and  weakness  from  the 
confidential  language  of  thy  pampered  and 
ruined  prototype.  If  thy  mind  be  yet  left  nn- 
corrupt  enough  to  perceive  one  rhetorical  beau- 
ty in  his  style,  thy  heart  cannot  be  too  dull  and 
insensible  to  feel  the  point  of  the  reproof  and 
warning  his  confessions  speak. 

TROY,  N.  Y.  JUNE,   1807. 


THE 


INTRODUCTION 


THERE  is  no  species  of  publication  which 
seems  to  be  more  agreeably  received  than  that 
which  illustrates  the  characters  of  men,  distinguish- 
ed for  their  abilities,  venerable  for  their  erudition, 
and  admired  for  their  virtues.  The  political  his- 
tory of  great  men  is  useful  and  necessary  to  many  ; 
but  the  domestick  history  of  all  men  is  useful  and 
necessary  to  all. 

Among  the  materials  from  whence  the  biogra- 
pher forms  the  volume  of  domestick  characters, 
private  letters  are  considered  as  the  most  valuable, 
becaufe  they  are  the  most  unequivocal  authorities 
of  real  sentiment  and  opinion.  Conversation  is 
too  fugitive  to  be  remembered  ;  publick  declara- 
rations  may  be  oftentimes  suspected  ;  but  the  epis- 
tolary communications  of  friendship  may  be  de- 
pended upon  as  faithful  to  the  mind  from  whence 
they  arise.  The  following  letters,  therefore,  as  pro- 
ceeding from  a  nobleman  whose  great  talents  prom- 


r  vii  ] 

ised  no  small  utility  to  his  country,  and  whose 
character  has  been  the  subject  of  such  general  spec- 
ulation, will,  without  doubt,  meet  with  a  favour- 
able reception. 

That  they  were  not  written  with  the  most  dis- 
tant idea  of  being  offered  to  the  world,  will  be 
evident  to  every  reader  ;  and,  surely,  no  inconsid- 
erable share  of  merit  will  be  allowed  them  from 
such  a  circumstance.  They  may  want,  perhaps, 
the  correctness  and  accuracy  of  prepared  composi- 
tions ;  but  they  possess  that  easy  sincerity,  and 
that  open  unbosoming  of  sentiments,  which  form 
the  charm  of  epistolary  correspondence. 

Some  liberties  have  been  taken  with  the  letters 
at  large,  by  omitting  such  as  alluded  to  transac- 
tions which  the  world  already  too  well  knows,  or 
which  it  would  be  shameful  to  betray.  But  no 
alteration  has  been  made  in  any  individual  letrer, 
except  an  occasional  retrenchment  of  expressions, 
which,  however  common  in  fashionable  life,  or 
unobserved  in  fashionable  conversation,  would 
not  justify  their  being  condensed  into  print,  and 
might  give  cause  of  offence  to  the  scrupulous 
reader. 

There  may  be  also  some  irregularity  in  the  dis- 
position of  the  letters  :  the  thirteenth^  and  the  last^ 
should  have  an  earlier  place  ;  but  they  were  alrea- 
dy numerically  arranged — and,  as  a  precise  order 
does  not  seem  to  be  material,  no  alteration  of  ihis 
kind  has  been  attempted,  which,  after  all,  mu^t 
have  been  made  upon  conjecture. 


C  viii  ] 

As  these  letters  were,  in  general,  without  any 
dates,  and  not  one  of  them  marked  with  that  of 
the  year,  it  was  thought  proper  to  omit  them 
throughout.  The  thirtieth  letter,  which  appears 
to  have  been  written  the  last  of  the  collection, 
bears,  in  the  manuscript  copy,  a  conjectural  date 
of  the  summer  of  1775.  As  it  was  a  matter  of 
particular  request,  it  was  thought  prudent  to  sup- 
press the  names  of  those  persons  to  whom  these 
letters  were  addressed  :  though  it  is  rather  natural 
to  suppose,  that  every  reader,  who  has  lived  in 
the  world,  will  form  very  probable  conjecture?  of 
them,  without  any  great  exercise  of  thought  or 
power  of  divination. 


Hettets 


OF  THE 

LATE  LORD  LYTTLETON. 


LETTER  I. 


MY  DEAR  FRIEND, 

YOU  do  me  great  injustice  :  I  receive  your 
letters  with  the  greatest  pleasure;  and  I  gave 
your  last  the  usual  welcome,  though  every  line 
was  big  with  reproaches  to  me.  I  feel  myself 
.greatly  mortified  that  you  should  have  a  sus- 
picion of  any  neglect  on  my  part.  When  I 
cease  to  answer  your  addresses,  you  will  be 
justified  in  supposing  me  careless  about  them : 
till  then,  you  will,  I  hope,  do  me  the  justice, 
.as  far  at  least  as  relates  to  yourself,  to  think 
well  of  me.  I  very  sensibly  feel  the  advantage 
of  your  good  opinion,  and  the  loss  of  it  would 
greatly  affect  me.  You  may  be  assured  that 
my  insensibility  to  reputation  is  not  such  as 
some  part  of  my  conduct  may  have  given  you 
reason  to  believe  :  for,  after  all  his  blustering 

and  looking  big,  the  heart  of  the  worst  man 

B 


10 

cannot  be  at  ease,  when  he  forces  a  look  of 
contempt  towards  th£  ill  opinion  of  mankind. 
In  spite  of  all  his  bravadoes,  he  is  an  hypocrite 
twelve  hours  out  of  the  four-and-twenty ;  and 
hypocrisy,  as  it  is  well  said,  is  the  homage 
which  Vice  pays  to  Virtue—unwillingly,  I 
confess ;  but  still  she  is  forced  to  pay  it. 

I  will  most  frankly  acknowledge  to  you,  that 
I  have  been  as  well  disposed  to  turn  my  back 
upon  the  good  opinion  of  the  world  as  any  one 
in  it ;  and  that  I  have  sometimes  accomplished 
this  important  business  without  confusion  of 
face,  but  never  without  confusion  of  heart. 
On  a  late  very  mortifying  occasion,  it  was  not 
in  my'pbwer  to  possess  myself  either  with  one 
•or  the  other.  At  a  publick  and  very  .nume- 
toits  meeting  in  .the  County  where  my  father 
liv.s,  where  great  part  of  his  property  lies, 
Xvhere  his  influence  is  considerable  and  his 
name  respectable,  I  was  not  only  deserted  but 
avoided  :  and  the  women  could  not  have  dis- 
covered more  horrour  on  my  approaching 
them,  if  I  had  been  Tarqnin  himself.  I  found 
myself  alone  in  the  crowd,  and,  which  is  as 
bad,  ak>ne  out  -of  the  crowd.  I  passed  the 
evening  without  company  ;  and  two  or  three 
such  evenings  would  either  have  driven  me  to 
despair,  or  have  reformed  me.  -I  was  then 


11 

convinced,  as  I  always  am  when  I  write  to  you, 
that  there  is  some  particle  of  good  still  remain- 
ing in  me :  but  I  flew  from  that  solitary  scene 
which  gave  such  a  conviction,  to  renew  that 
dissolute  intemperance  which  would  destroy  it. 
It  is  a  great  misfortune,  that  vice,  be  it  what 
it  may,  will  find  some  one  or  other  to  flatter  it; 
and  that  there  should  be  assemblies  of  people, 
where,  when  publick  and  honourable  society 
has  hissed  you  from  the  stage,  you  may  find, 
not  only  reception,  but  applause — little  earth- 
ly pandamoniumS)  where  you  meet  with  every 
means  to  hush  the  pains  of  reflection,  and  to 
guard  against  the  intrusions  of  conscience.    It 
requires  a  most  gigantick  resolution  to  suffer 
pain,  when  passion  quickens  every  sense,  and 
every  enticing  object  beckons  to  enjoyment.    I 
was  not  born  a  Stoick,  nor  am  I  made  to  be  a 
martyr !     So  much  do  I  hate  and  detest  pain, 
that  I  think  all  good  must  be  dear  that  is  to  be 
purchased  with  it.     Penitence  is  a  rack,  where 
offences  have  been  grievous.    To  sit  alone  and 
court  Reflection,  which  will  come,   perhaps, 
every  moment,  with  a  swinging  sin  at  her  back, 
and  to  be  humble  and  patient   beneath  the 
stripes  of  such  a  scourge — by  heavens,  it  is 
not  in  human  nature  to  bear  it !    I  am  sure,  at 
least,  it  is  not  in  mine.     If  I  could  go  to  con- 


12 

fession,  like  a  good  papist,  and  have  the  score 
wiped  off  at  once,  a  la  bonne  heure ! — But  to 
repent  like  a  sobbing,  paralytick  Presbyterian, 
will  not  do  for  me :  I  am  not  fat  enough  to  re- 
pent that  way.  George  Bodens  may  be  quali- 
fied for  such  a  system  of  contrition  ;  but  my 
skinny  shape  will  not  bear  mortification  :  and, 
if  I  were  to  attempt  the  subdual  of  my  carnal 
lust  by  fasting  and  prayer,  I  should  be  soon 
fasted  and  prayed  into  the  family  vault,  and 
disappoint  the  worms  of  their  meals. 

I  have  had,  as  you  well  know,  some  serious 
conversations  with  my  father  upon  the  subject ; 
and  one  evening  he  concluded  a  Christian  lec- 
ture of  a  most  unchristian  length,  by  recom- 
mending me  to  address  Heaven  to  have  mercy 
upon  me,  and  to  join  my  prayers  to  his  con- 
stant and  paternal  ones  for  my  reformation. — 
These  expressions,  with  his  preceding  coun- 
sels, and  his  affecting  delivery  of  them,  had 
such  an  effect  upon  me,  that,  like  the  King  in 
Hamlet,  I  had  bent  the  stubborn  sinews  of  my 
knees,  when  it  occurred  to  me  that  my  devo- 
tions might  be  seen  through  the  key-hole. 
This  drew  me  from  my  pious  attitude  ;  and, 
having  secured  this  aperture,  so  unfriendly  to 
secret  deeds,  I  thought  would  not  be  an  use- 
less precaution  to  let  down  the  window-cur- 


13 

tains  also ;  and  during  the  performance  of  that 
ceremony,  some  lively  mu sick,  which  struck 
up  in  the  street,  caught  my  attention,  and  gave 
a  sudden  flirt  to  all  my  devout  ideas :  so  I 
girded  on  my  sword,  and  went  to  the  Little 
Theatre  in  the  Hay-market,  where  Mrs.  Cole 
and  the  Reverend  Dr.  Squintum  soon  put  me 
out  of  humour  with  praying,  and  into  humour 
with  myself. 

I  really  began  this  letter  in  very  sober  seri- 
ousness ;  and,  though  I  have  strayed  from  my 
grave  airs  into  something  that  wears  a  ludi- 
crous appearance,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  give  up 
all  hopes  of  my  amendment.  If  there  were  but 
half  a  dozen  people  in  the  world,  who  would 
afford  me  the  kind  encouragement  I  receive 
from  you,  it  would,  I  verily  believe,  work  a 
reformation  in  the  prodigal :  but  the  world  has 
marked  me  down  for  so  much  dissoluteness,  as 
to  doubt,  at  all  times,  of  the  sincerity  of  my 

repentance.     has  already  told  me,  more 

than  once,  that  I  am  got  so  deep  into  the  mud 
as  to  make  it  highly  improbable  that  I  should 
ever  get  out ;  that  I  am  too  bad  ever  to  be 
good ;  and  that  my  future  lot  is  either  to  be 
an  open  villain  or  an  undeceiving  hypocrite. 
Pretty  encouragemenl^uly  !  Lady  Hunting- 
don would  tell  me  another  story :  but,  howev- 


14 

er  that  may  be,  I  shall  never  give  myself  up 
for  lost,  while  I  retain  a  sense  of  your  merit 
and  a  value  for  your  friendship.  With  these 
sentiments  I  take  my  leave,  and  beg  of  you  to 
be  assured  that  I  am  most  sincerely  yours, 


- 


15 

LETTER  II. 



SO turns  up  his  eyes,  and  sig- 
nificantly shrugs  his  shoulders  when  my  name 
is  mentioned ;  and,  to  continue  the  farce,  pre- 
tends to  lament  me  as  a  disgrace  to  his  fami* 
ly  !     I  am  almost  ashamed  to  acknowledge  it, 
but  this  idle  history  has  given  me  more  sting- 
ing mortification  than  I  almost  ever  felt.    How 
insignificant  must  he  become,  who  is  openly 
despised  by  insignificance ;  and  how  loud  must 
the  hiss  of  the  world  be,  when  such  a  puny 
whipster  insults  me  !    If  honourable  men  were 
to  speak  of  me  with  contempt,  I  should  sub-- 
mit  without  resentment ;  for  I  have  deserved 
it.     If  they  should  bestow  their  pity  upon  mer 
I  should  thank  them  for  giving  me  more  than 
I  deserve.     If  mankind  despise,  I  have  only 
to  resist  or  fly  from  the  contempt.     But  to  be 
an  object  of  supercilious  airs,  from  one  who, 
two  years  ago,  would  have  wiped  the  dust 
from  off  my  shoes,  and  who,   perhaps,  two 
years  hence,  will  be  proud  of  the  same  office— • 
a  puny  prattler  who  does  not  possess  a  snffi* 
ciem  degree  of  talent  or  importance  to 


16 

dignity  either  to  virtue  or  crime : — I  say,  to  be 
the  butt  of  such  a  one,  severely  mortifies  me. 
Were  I  on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  his 
back-biting  looks  and  shrugs  should  be  chang- 
ed in  a  moment  to  well-made  bows  and  sup- 
pliant postures.  If  I  live,  the  scurvy  knave 
shall  dp  me  homage  !  It  really  frets  me,  that 
I  cannot,  in  four-and-twenty  hours,  meet  him 
face  to  face,  and  make  his  subservient  atten- 
tions give  the  lie  to  his  humbling  compassion, 
in  the  presence  of  those  before  whom  he  has 
traduced  me.  The  day  of  my  revenge  will 
come,  when  he  shall  open  his  mouth  for  me  to 
spit  in  it,  as  he  was  wont  to  do,  and  perform, 
every  dirty  trick  for  which  parasites  were  form- 
ed. His  genius  is  to  fetch  and  carry — a  very 
spaniel,  made  to  fawn  and  eat  your  leavings ; 
whose  whole  courage  rises  no  higher  than  to 
ape  a  snarl.  If  I  live  to  outlive  this  snuffling 
pedagogue,  I  shall  see  him  make  a  foolish  end 
of  it.  Mark  my  words — I  am  a  very  Shylock 
— I  will  have  Revenge  ! 

The  last  word  I  have  written  puts  me  in 

mind  of  telling  you,  that has  been 

with  me  for  some  time.  The  rascal,  who  is  a 
priest  into  the  bargain,  carried  aquafortis  in  a 
syringe  for  three  months  together,  to  squirt  the 
fiery  liquor  into  the  eyes  of  a  fortunate  rival. 


17 

In  this  diabolical  design  he  succeeded,  and  the 
object  of  his  malice  was  for  ever  deprived  of 
half  his  sight.  I  have  conversed  with  him  on 
the  horrours  of  this  transaction ;  but  the  Ital- 
ian finds  a  consolation  in  his  own  infernal  feel- 
ings, and  a  justification  in  the  dying  command 
of  his  father,  whose  last  words  composed  this 
emphatick  sentence — "Remember,  my  son,  that 
Revenge  is  sweet." 

This  man  is  capable  of  any  villany,  if  'mo- 
ney is  to  be  got  by  it ;  and  I  doubt  not  but  he 
might  be  bribed  to  undertake/'  without  hesita- 
tion, robbery,  seduction,  rape,  and  murder. 
However,  my  superiour  virtue  for  once  over- 
awed his  villany:  for  he  most  certainly  had  it  in 
his  power  to  have  robbed  me  of  a  large  sum  of 
money,  without  the  possibility  of  a  discovery; 
and,  if  he  thought  it  necessary,  he  might  have 
dispatched  me  with  as  little  danger.  I  have 
since  asked  him  what  strange  fit  of  virtue,  or 
fear  of  the  devil,  came  across  him,  when  he 
had  such  an  opportunity  to  make  his  fortune. 
The  impudent  rascal  replied,  at  once,  that  he 
had  very  powerful  suggestions  to  send  me  to 
the  other  world ;  and  that,  if,  fortunately  for 
him,  I  had  possessed  one  single  virtue,  he 
should,  without  ceremony,  have  dispatched  me 

to  my  reward.    This  event,  I  think,  will  make 

c 


18 

a  complete  Mandivillean  of  me.  You  see,  for 
your  encouragement,  that  a  bad  life  is  good  for 
something ;  and  for  the  good  example  which 
the  world  will  receive  from  me  in  times  to 
come,  it  will  be  indebted  to  the  very  bad  one 
I  have  already  given  it. — After  this  signal  and 
providential  preservation,  I  cannot  but  think 
that  Heaven  has  something  particularly  great 
in  store  for  me. 

As  I  tell  it  you,  this  history  has  the  air  of  a 
badinage  ;  but  you  may  be  assured  that  it  is  a 
real  fact,  and  T  am  sorry  that  the  circumstan- 
ces of  it  are  too  long  and  various  to  be  insert- 
ed in  a  letter.  I  believe  you  know  something 
of  the  man ;  but,  if  you  repeat  what  I  have 
written  to  any  one  who  is  acquainted  with  him, 
you  will  soon  find  that  I  have  had  a  very  nar- 
row escape.  I  have  bribed  him  to  leave  me, 
and  he  is  gone  for  England.  The  story  of 
Lewis  the  Fourteenth  and  his  Barber  is  well 
known ;  and  you  may,  if  you  please,  apply  it 
to 

Your  affectionate,  &c. 


19 


LETTER  IIL 


MY  DEAR   FRIEND, 

YOUR  letter,  which  I  received  no  longer 
ago  than  yesterday,  would  do  honour  to  the 
most  celebrated  name  among  the  moral  writers 
of  any  period.  It  is  the  most  sensible,  easy, 
and  concise  history  of  the  Passions  I  have  ever 
read.  Indeed,  it  has  not  been  my  lot  to  have 
given  any  great  portion  of  my  time  to  such 
studies.  These  powers  have  kept  me  too 
much  in  the  sphere  of  their  own  tumultuous 
whirlwinds,  to  leave  me  the  leisure  of  exam- 
ining  them.  I  have  been,  am,  and  I  fear  shall 
be,  their  sport  and  their  slave ;  and  when  I 
shall  acquire  that  serenity  of  character  which 
will  enable  me  to  examine  them  with  a  philo- 
sophical scrutiny,  I  cannot  tell.  My  expecta- 
tions are  at  such  a  distance  upon  this  point, 
that  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  mention  my  ap- 
prehensions to  you.  It  is,  however,  treating 
you  with  that  confidence  you  deserve,  to  tell 
you,  that  from  my  soul  I  think  the  very  source 
of  them  must  be  dried  up  before  they  will  lose 


20 

their  empire  over  me.  In  the  lively  expres- 
sion of  the  poet,  "  they  are  the  elements  of 
life,"  without  which  man  would  be  a  mass  of 
insensible  and  unintelligent  matter.  Now,  it 
is  that  happy  compound  of  these  elementary 
particles  of  intellectual  life,  that  you  so  well 
describe,  so  thoroughly  understand,  and  so 
happily  possess,  which  I  despair  of  attaining. 
I  have  the  resolution  to  make  resolutions,  but 
it  extends  no  farther ;  I  cannot  keep  them : 
and  to  escape  from  the  misery  brought  on  by 
one  passion,  I  have  so  habituated  myself  to 
bathe  in  a  branch  of  the  same  flood,  that  I 
cannot  look  for  any  other  relief. — You  very 
naturally  ask  me  where  all  this  must  end? — I 
know  not ! — and  to  similar  interrogatories  I 
have  sometimes  madly  replied,  I  care  not ! — 
But  I  shall  not  offend  you  with  such  a  decla- 
tion ;  and  when  I  am  writing  to  you,  I  do  not 
feel  myself  disposed  to  do  it.  In  answering 
you,  therefore,  I  shall  adopt  the  language  of 
the  ruined  gamester,  who  addressed  his  shad- 
ow in  the  glass  :  "  Je  vous  ai  (lit  et  redit,  Mal- 
bcureux!  quc,  si  vous  continuiez  afaire  de  par- 
eils  tour,  vous  iriez  a  Vhopital." 

You  lay  great  stress  upon  the  powers  of 
Reason,  and,  in  truly  philosophical  language, 
heightened  by  the  most  proper  and  affecting 


imagery,  present  this  sage  directress  of  weak 
mortals  to  my  attention.  I  receive  her  at  your 
hand,  respect  her  as  your  friend,  and  venerate 
her  as  the  cause  of  your  superiority  over  me : 
but  whether  she  perceives  that  my  respect  is 
insincere,  or  remembers  how  shamefully  I 
have  neglected  her ;  so  it  is,  that  she  slides  in- 
sensibly from  me,  and  I  see  her  no  more. — My 
bark  rides  steady  for  a  moment,  but  it  is  not 
long  ere  it  again  becomes  the  sport  of  winds 
and  billows.  But,  after  all,  and  without  any 
blasphemous  arraignment  of  the  order  of  Prov- 
idence, permit  me  to  ask  you — Why  is  this 
principle,  implanted  in  our  natures  for  the 
wise  and  happy  regulation  of  them,  so  weak 
in  itself,  so  slow  in  its  progress,  and  so  late  in 
its  maturity?  If  it  is  designed  to  controul  our 
Passions,  why  does  it  not  keep  pace  with 
them  ? — wherefore  does  it  not  grow  with  their 
growth^  and  strengthen  with  their  strength  ? — 
and  what  cause  can  be  assigned  that  the  one 
are  ripe  for  gratification  before  the  other  has 
scarce  bursted  into  blossom  ?  Let  us,  howev- 
er, take  a  long  stride  from  the  imbecility  of 
youth  to  the  firmness  of  mature  age,  and  we 
shall  see  that  the  Passions  have  only  changed 
their  form ;  that  Reason  still  totters,  is  fre- 
quently driven  from  her  throne,  and  even  de- 


22 

serts  those,  who  have  most  cultivated  her  friend- 
ship, and  acknowledged  her  power.  The  con- 
test frequently  continues  through  life,  and  the 
superiority  as  often  ends,  where  it  always  be- 
gins, on  the  side  of  Passion.  We  may  be  said 
even  sometimes  to  outlive  Reason  ;  while  Pas- 
sion of  some  kind,  and,  many  times,  of  the 
worst  kind,  will  preserve  its  influence  to  the 
last.  To  conclude  the  matter,  how  often  does 
the  lamp  of  human  reason  become  extinct, 
yielding  corporal  nature  a  prey  to  Passion  in 
the  extreme,  whose  tortures  are  rendered  more 
fierce  by  the  iron  restraints  of  necessary  policy 
and  medical  interposition  ! 

If  it  were  possible  to  trace  the  course  of  Rea- 
son in  the  mind  of  the  best  man  that  ever  liv- 
ed, from  its  first  budding  to  a  fulness  of  ma- 
turity, what  a  mortifying  scene  would  be  un- 
veiled !  What  checks  and  delays,  what  tran- 
quillity and  tumult,  what  frequent  extinction 
and  renovation,  what  rapid  flights  and  sudden 
downfals,  what  contest  and  submission,  would 
compose  the  operations  of  this  rightful  mistress 
of  human  actions  !  Men  of  cold  tempers,  and 
habituated  to  reflection,  may  cry  up  this  dis- 
tinctive faculty  of  man ;  they  may  chaunt  its 
apotheosis,  and  build  temples  to  its  honour  : — 
such  were  Lord  Shaftesbury  and  Mr.  Addi- 


23 

son ;  and  they  may  be  joined  by  those,  whose 
fortunate  education  and  early  connections  have 
given  to  their  warmer  dispositions  the  best  ob- 
jects. In  that  confined  but  happy  society  I  must 
place  my  friend,  whose  kind  star  preserved  his 
youth  from  temptation,  and  blest  his  bloom  of 
manhood  with  the  ample  and  all-satisfying  plea- 
sures of  virtuous  love.  You  will  not  suspect 
me  of  wishing  to  diminish  the  reality  of  that 
merit  which  I  so  much  admire,  or  of  a  desire 
to  damp  the  glow  of  that  virtue  -whose  lustre 
cannot  be  diminished  by  my  envy,  or  height- 
ened by  my  praise  ;  but,  in  the  course  of  hu- 
man affairs,  time  and  chance  have  so  much  to 
do,  that  I  cannot  suppose  even  your  worth  to 
be  without  some  obligations  to  them. 

To  conclude  this  very,  very  long  letter,  I 
must  beg  leave  to  observe,  that  I  do  not  un- 
derstand why  Reason,  that  divinity  of  philoso- 
phers, should  be  cooped  up  in  the  confined  re- 
gion of  the  brain,  while  the  Passions  are  per- 
mitted to  range  at  large,  and  without  restraint, 
through  every  other  part  of  the  body.  I  see 
you  smile — but  be  assured  that  these  two  jar- 
ring powers  are,  for  a  moment,  both  united  in 
me,  to  assure  you  that  I  am,  with  a  real  sin- 
cerity, 

Your's,  <kc. 


24 


I  AVAIL  myself,  Madam,  of  the  very 
obliging  offer  you  made  me  of  suffering  a  small 
parcel  to  occupy  an  useless  pocket  in  your 
coach.  It  is  of  some  little  importance  ;  but  if 
the  Custom-house  officers  at  Dover  should 
suspect  you  of  being  a  smuggler  of  lace,  as  you 
certainly  are  of  other  and  better  things,  and  in- 
sist upon  examining  its  contents,  I  beg  you'will 
indulge  their  curiosity  without  ceremony.  On 
your  arrival  in  London ,  when  any  of  your  ser- 
vants should  be  unemployed,  I  must  desire  the 
additional  favour  of  its  being  sent  to  the  place 
where  it  is  addressed. 

I  feel  myself  extremely  mortified,  that  a  cold, 
which  forbids  me  to  utter  any  thing  more  than 
a  whisper,  should  have  prevented  me  from  of- 
fering you  my  personal  wishes  for  your  health 
and  happiness,  an  agreeable  journey,  and  a 
safe  arrival  in  England,  where  your  friends 
will  feel  a  delight  in  seeing  you,  which  can  be 
only  equalled  by  their  regret  whom  you  have 
left  behind.  Among  the  number  of  them  I  am 


25 

not  the  least  sincere ;  and,  tho'  I  found  your 
gates  but  very  seldom  open  for  me,  I  am  truly 
grateful  to  you  for  the  pleasure  I  received 
whenever  you  indulged  me  with  the  honour  of 
an  admittance. 

Perhaps  your  caution,  in  this  particular,  pro- 
ceeded from  an  ill  opinion  of  me  :  you  might 
consider  me  as  a  person  too  dangerous  to  break 
with  openly,  or  too  intruding  to  trust  with  fa- 
miliarity. If  so,  you  have  done  me  wrong, 
and,  what  is  more,  you  have  done  injustice  to 
yourself.  There  is  a  dignity  in  .virtue  like 
your's,  which  commands  respect  from  all ;  and 
the  worst  of  men  would  be  overawed  in  his 
approaches  to  it.  Perhaps,  Madam,  there  was 
also  a  little  compassion  mingled  with  your 
reserve.  You  must  be  conscious  of  your 
charms ;  but,  possessed  of  an  heart  which 
would  find  no  glory  in  coquettish  triumphs, 
you  did  not  suffer  me  to  approach  you,  lest  I 
should  be  scorched  by  the  beams  of  that  beau- 
ty, which  is  sufficient  to  inflame  all,  and  which 
you  preserve  for  one.  If  such  humane  con- 
siderations governed  the  orders  which  were 
given  to  your  Swiss,  it  becomes  me  to  express 
my  grateful  sense  of  your  kindness :  but,  if 
you  acted  from  motives  not  so  favourable  to 

D 


26 

ine,  I  must  lament,  as  a  tenfold  misfortune, 
that  you  should  add  another  thong  to  the 
scourge  of  Injustice. 

I  believe  in  my  heart,  that  your  society,  and 
such  as  I  should  have  met  with  you,  would 
have  been  of  great  use  and  benefit  to  me  ;  and 
that,  in  being  so  sparing  of  your  welcomes, 
you  omitted  doing  a  great  good.  The  very 
business  of  this  letter  has  made  a  gloomy  mind 
less  gloomy;  and,  if  I  had  half  a  dozen  letters 
to  write  to  half  a  dozen  persons  like  yourself, 
(if  so  many  could  be  found  in  the  world,)  it 
would  make  this  day,  in  spite  of  every  unpleas- 
ant indisposition,  one  of  the  happiest  and  best 
of  my  life.  During  the  future  part  of  it,  what 
of  good  or  honour  is  destined  for  me,  I  can- 
not tell ;  but  I  shall  ever  consider  it  as  a  very 
great  and  most  flattering  privilege,  whenever 
you  will  permit  me,  in  any  manner,  to  assure 
you  with  what  real  respect 

I  am,  &c.  &c. 


27 


LETTER  V. 


OF  all  the  birds  in  the  air,  who  should 

have  been  here  but !    I  met  her  in 

the ,  where  she  could  not  well  avoid  me, 

though  I  saw  in  her  looks  a  wish  to  do  'it. 
She  received  me,  therefore,  with  great  polite- 
ness ;  conversed  with  much  ease  and  vivacity 
during  the  walk ;  and,  when  I  requested  per- 
mission to  wait  on  her,  she  granted  it,  in  that 
sort  of  manner,  which  told  me,  in  as  strong 
terms  as  looks  could  give,  "  You  are  very  im- 
"  prudent  to  risk  such  a  request :  but  as  an 
"  absolute  refusal  might  raise  conjectures  in 
"  those  about  us  unfavourable  to  you,  I  will 
"  not  answer  you  with  a  denial ;  and  my  gates 
"  shall  not  always  be  shut  against  you.  But 
"  you  will  do  well  to  proportion  your  visits  to 
"  what  you  may  naturally  conceive  to  be  my 
"  desire."  And  she  has  kept  her  word.  Dur- 
ing six  weeks  that  she  was  here,  I  called  ten 
times,  and  was  admitted  only  thrice,  when 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  company.  This  is 
a  very  superiour  woman ;  for,  while  she  coi> 


28 

ducts  herself  in  such  a  manner  to  me,  as  to 
tell  me  plainly  that  the  respect  she  has  for  my 
family  is  the  only  inducement  to  give  me  the 
reception  she  does ;  there  is  not  a  single  look 
suffered  to  escape  her,  from  which  any  person 
might  form  the  most  distant  suspicion  of  her 
sentiments  concerning  me.  It  is  my  blab  of  a 
conscience  that  does  the  business  for  me — it 
is  that  keen-sighted  lynx,  which  sees  things 
impervious  to  every  other  eye  :  and  thus  I  ex- 
pose myself  to  myself,  when  I  appear  without 
spot  or  blemish  to  the  circle  about  me. 

is  a  very  fine  woman,  a  very  sen- 
sible woman,  and,  what  is  more  rare,  a  very 
rational  woman.  The  three  qualities  of  beau- 
ty, talents,  and  wisdom,  which  are  generally 
supposed  to  be  incompatible  in  the  same  fe- 
male character,  are,  however,  united  in  her. 
There  is  another  circumstance  which,  though 
a  rake,  I  cannot  but  admire,  and  which  the 
most  dissolute  respect  in  others,  though  they 
are  strangers  to  it  themselves — I  mean  con- 
stancy. From  the  united  principles  of  duty 
and  affection,  she  is  faithful  to  her  husband, 
who,  to  say  the  truth,  highly  deserves  it. — 
Such  a  woman  is  capable  of  making  the  bad 
good,  the  inconstant  stable,  and  the  giddy 
wise ;  and  he,  who  would  wish  to  see  what  is 


29 

most  perfect  and  respectable  in  the  female 
character,  would  do  well  to  make  a  pilgrimage 
to  see  and  converse  with  her.  I  was  so  very 
much  afflicted  with  a  cold,  as  not  to  be  able  to 
go  and  hand  her  to  the  coach  on  her  departure  ; 
which  was  a  circumstance  still  more  afflicting 
than  the  cold :  so  I  consoled  myself  by  writing 
her  a  letter,  which  was  half  serious,  more  than 
half  gallant,  and  almost  sincere. 

If  you  could,  by  any  means,  discover — and 
I  should  think  it  would  be  in  your  power  to  do 
it  without  much  trouble — whether  she  has  at 
any  time  mentioned  it,  and,  if  so,  in  what  man- 
ner she  expressed  herself,  you  would  very  sen- 
sibly gratify  the  curiosity  of, 

Your  affectionate,  Sec. 


50 


LETTER  VI. 


IT  is  so  long  since  I  received  your  letter, 
that  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  answer  it ;  and 
be  assured,  that,  in  writing  my  apology,  and 
asking  your  pardon,  I  act  with  a  degree  of  res- 
olution that  I  have  seldom  experienced.  I 
hardly  expect  that  you  will  receive  the  one  or 
grant  the  other  :  I  do  not  deserve  either,  or  in- 
deed any  kindness  from  you  of  any  sort ;  for  I 
have  been  very  ungrateful.  I  am  myself  very 
sensible  of  it,  and  very  much  apprehend  that 
you  will  be  of  the  same  opinion.  I  was  never 
more  conscious  of  my  follies  than  at  this  mo- 
ment :  and,  if  you  should  have  withdrawn  your- 
self from  the  very  few  friends  which  are  left 
me,  I  shall  not  dare  to  complain ;  for  I  deserve 
the  loss,  and  can  only  lament  that  another  and 
a  deeper  shade  \vill  be  added  to  my  life.  The 
very  idea  of  such  a  misfortune  is  most  griev- 
ous ;  and  nothing  can  be  more  painful  than  the 
reflection  of  suffering  it  from  a  fatal,  ill-starred, 
and  abortive  infatuation,  which  will  prove  my 
bane.  I  have  written  letters,  since  I  received 


31 

your's,  to  many  who  have  never  done  me  any 
kindness  ;  to  some  who  have  betrayed  me  ;  and 
to  others  whose  correspondence  administered 
no  one  comfort  to  my  heart,  or  honour  to  my 
character  ;  and  for  them,  at  least  engaged  with 
them,  I  have  neglected  you,  to  whose  disinter- 
ested friendship  I  am  so  much  indebted,  and 
which  is  now  become  the  only  point  whereon 
to  fix  my  anchor  of  hope. 

But  this  is  not  all :  if  it  were,  I  have  some- 
thing within  me  which  would  whisper  your 
forgiveness  ;  for  you  know  of  wrhat  frail  mate- 
rials I  am  made,  and  have  ventured,  in  the 
face  of  the  world's  malice,  to  prognosticate  fa- 
vourably of  my  riper  life.  But  I  fear  that  you 
will  think  meanness  added  to  ingratitude,  when 
I  tell  you,  that  I  am  called  back  to  acknowl- 
edge your  past  goodness  to  me,  and  to  ask  a 
repetition  of  it,  not  from  any  renewed  senti- 
ments of  honour  or  gratitude,  but  by  immedi- 
ate and  wringing  distress.  In  such  a  situa- 
tion your  idea  presented  itself  to  me — an  idea 
which  was  not  encouraged  in  seasons  of  en- 
joyment :  it  never  wished  to  share  my  pleas- 
ure, but,  like  the  first-born  of  friendship,  it 
hastened  to  partake  my  pain.  Though  it  came 
in  so  lovely  a  form,  I  dared  not  bid  it  wel- 
come ;  and  I  started,  as  at  the  sight  of  one 


32 

whom  I  had  severely  injured,  whose  neglect, 
contempt,  and  revenge,  I  might  justly  dread, 
while  I  did  not  possess  the  least  means  of  re- 
sistance, nor  had  a  covert  left  where  I  might 
fly  for  refuge  ! 

This  is  a- very  painful  confession,  and  will, 
I  hope,  plead  my  cause  in  your  bosom,  and 
win  you  to  grant  my  request.  I  have  written 

to for  some  time  past,  and  have  never 

been  favoured  with  one  line  of  reply.  Indeed, 
it  has  been  hinted,  that  he  refuses  to  read  my 
letters.  However  that  may  be,  he  most  cer- 
tainly does  not  answer  them.  In  order,  there- 
fore, that  I  may  know  my  fate  and  be  certain 
of  my  doom,  I  most  earnestly  and  submissive- 
ly intreat  you  to  deliver  the  inclosed  letter  into 

his  hands. If  I  should  be  deserted  by  you 

both,  the  consequences  may  be  of  such  a  na- 
ture, as,  in  the  most  angry  paroxysm,  you 
would  neither  of  you  wish  to 

Your  most  obliged,  £tc. 


33 


LETTER  VII. 


MY   DEAR  , 

I  RETURN  you  all  my  thanks  for  the 
endeavours  you  have  made  to  satisfy  the  wish- 
es of  my  last  letter.  I  am  very  grateful  to 
you,  though  they  have  proved  fruitless.  I 
suppose  she  destroyed  the  paper  the  moment 
she  had  perused  the  contents  of  it.  Perhaps 
she  did  not  even  deign  to  read  it,  but  deliver- 
ed it  immediately  to  the  flames,  as  tainted  and 
infectious  in  coming  from  so  unholy  a  person 
as  I  am.  The  idea  mortifies  me.  To  be  treat- 
ed with  contempt  is  always  painful,  and  more 
so  to  those  who  deserve  it,  as  they  have  no 
shelter  in  themselves  to  which  they  can  fly  for 
protection:  in  their  own  hearts  they  will  find 
the  echo  of  those  sounds  against  which  they 
shut  their  ears  ;  while  the  good  man  possesses 
a  shield  in  his  virtue,  and  returns  compassion 
for  injustice.  Contempt  becomes  still  more 
poignant,  when  it  is  conducted  with  a  delicacy 
which  does  not  give  you  the  most  momentary 
opportunity  of  returning  it ;  when  it  is  so  blend- 


34 

ed  with  good-humour  and  external  decorum  as 
to  let  no  one  see  it  but  the  conscious  victim. 

In  this  manner  did  the  fair  Lady  manage  the 
matter  with  me  :  she  honoured  me  with  every 
mark  of  exteriour  respect ;  she  suffered  no  po- 
lite attention  or  civility  to  escape  her ;  at  the 
same  time,  her  conduct  towards  me  was  so 
general  and  equally  tempered,  that  she  won 
me,  as  it  were  by  enchantment,  into  the  same 
mode,  and  precluded  familiarity.  I  had  indeed 
brought  myself  to  the  resolution  of  making  my 
approaches  more  nearly,  when  she  immediate- 
ly discovered  my  design,  and,  by  asking  some 
questions  about  my  father,  which  were  wholly 
unexpected  on  my  part,  and  connected  with 
some  very  stinging  ideas,  she  threw  me  at  once 
to  my  former  distance,  dissipated  in  a  moment 
the  impudence  I  had  collected  for  the  occasion, 
and  I  have  never  seen  her  since. 

You  have  some  sportable  fancies  upon  the 
subject,  and  you  are  welcome  to  them:  but 
for  once  you  are  beside  the  mark ;  and,  though 
your  incredulity  may  oppose  itself  to  my  asser- 
tion, believe  me  that  I  have  an  honest  respect 
for  this  woman,  and  it  is  on  that  account  that 
I  am  so  severely  wounded  by  her  treatment  of 
me.  The  contempt  of  half  mankind  is  not 
Worth  the  smile  it  occasions  :  thev  act  from  ca- 


35 

price,  folly,  weakness,  envy,  or  some  base 
motive ;  they  join  the  vulgar  clamour  they 
know  not  why ;  and  their  hiss,  though  loud, 
gives  not  the  pain  of  a  moment :  but  the  scorn 
of  good  and  honourable  men  is  the  fruit  of  con- 
viction ;  it  springs  from  an  aversion  to  what  is 
contrary  to  their  own  excellence,  and  cannot  be 
retorted.  There  is  no  other  way  of  being  re- 
venged of  them,  but  in  giving  the  lie  to  their 
unfavourable  prognostications,  by  an  immedi- 
ate and  complete  reformation  ;  and  this  is  a 
difficulty,  rny  friend,  of  whose  arduous  nature 
you  are  equally  sensible  with  myself!- — Facilis 
descensus  Averni—sed  revocare  gmdum,  &c. 
Sec.  &c. — •. — The  road  by  contrition  to  amend- 
ment is  humiliating,  painful,  and  difficult  ; 
and  the  greater  part  of  guilty,  mortals  adopt 
the  sentiments  of  Macbeth  :' 


-"  1  am  in  blood 


Slept  in  so  far,  that,  should  I  wade  no  more, 

. 
Returning  were  as  bad  as  to  go  o'er." 

But  to  the  purpose  :  I  have  another  commis- 
sion for  you,  in  which  I  flatter  myself  you  will 
be  more  successful  than  in  your  last.  You 
must  know,  then,  I  am  in  a  bad  plight,  and 
there  is  no  good  ground  of  expectation  that 
matters  will  go  better  with  me  :  on  the  contra- 
ry, the  prospect  is  a  dark  one,  and  the  gloom 
increases  every  step  I  take.  To  extricate  my- 


36 

self,  if  possible,  I  wrote  to ,  who  has 

not  answered  my  letters,  and,  I  am  disposed 
to  think,  never  opens  them.  I  was,  therefore, 
under  the  necessity  of  addressing  a  very  piti- 
ful, penitential  epistle  to .  I  have  used  him 

scurvily,  and  made  such  an  ill  return  to  all 
his  zeal  to  serve  me,  that  I  have  too  much  rea- 
son to  apprehend  his  resentment.  He  passed 

through about   six  weeks  ago,  without 

inquiring  after  me.  However,  without  ap- 
pearing to  know  any  thing  of  that  circumstance, 
I  ventured  to  tell  a  miserable  tale  to  him,  and 
to  beseech  his  kindness  would  once  more  in- 
terest itself  in  my  behalf,  by  delivering  a  let- 
ter into 's  own  hands.  It  would  be 

an  easy  matter,  I  should  imagine,  to  discover 

if  he  has  complied  with  my  request.     T 

will  inform  you  if  he  has  been  lately,  and 

when,  in street.     Perhaps  he  may  have 

scented  out  something  more ;  and  whatever  you 
discover,  I  should  be  glad  to  knov/  with 
all  possible  dispatch.  They  will,  probably,  be 
slow  in  their  operations,  whatever  they  may 
be  ;  and  your  information  will  direct  my  hopes, 
or  confirm  my  fears — will  either  give  a  sun- 
shine to  the  present  shade,  or  prepare  me  for 
the  worst.  Adieu,  and  believe  me 

Ever  your's,  8cc. 


37 


LETTER  VIII. 


YOU  accuse  me  of  neglect  in  not  informing 
you  that  I  was  in  London.  Believe  me,  I  had 
every  disposition  in  the  world  to  do  it,  but  was 
opposed  by  circumstances,  which,  among  other 
mortifications,  prevented  me  from  seeing  you. 
I  came  to  England  in  so  private  a  manner,  that 
I  imagined  no  one  would,  or,  indeed,  could 
know  of  my  arrival ;  but,  by  a  combination  of 
unlucky  circumstances,  the  secret  was  discov- 
ered, and  by  those  who  were  the  most  likely 
to  make  a  very  unpleasant  use  of  their  know- 
ledge. I  was  therefore  obliged  to  shift  my 

plan,  and  to  beg  H to  give  me  an 

asylum  in  his  house,  where  he  very  kindly  re- 
ceived and  entertained  me.  My  abode  was  not 
suspected  by  any  one ;  and  I  remained  there 
till  certain  people  were  persuaded  that  I  had 
never  left  the  Continent,  or  was  again  return- 
ed to  it ;  and  till  the  hell-hounds,  who  were 
in  pursuit  of  me,  had  relaxed  their  search. 

You  must,   certainly,  have  heard  me  men- 
tion  something  of  my  Host   and   Hostess  : 


38 

are  the  most  original  couple  that  ever 
were  paired  together  ;  and  their  singularity 
effected  what,  I  believe,  no  other  amusement 
could  have  attained — it  made  me  forget  the 
disagreeableness  of  my  situation.  He  pos- 
sesses a  strange,  wild,  rhapsodick  genius, 
which,  however,  is  not  uncultivated  ;  and, 
amid  a  thousand  odd,  whimsical  ideas,  he 
produces  original  bursts  of  poetry  and  under- 
standing that  are  charming.  She  is  a  for- 
eigner, assumes  the  title  of  Countess,  and, 
without  knowing  how  to  write  or  read,  pos- 
sesses, in  the  circumstance  of  dress,  behavi- 
our, &c.  all  her  husband's  dispositions.  She  is 
fantastick,  grotesque,  outree,  and  wild  ;  never- 
theless, at  times,  there  are  very  pleasing 
gleams  of  propriety  in  her  manners  and  ap- 
pearance. 

I  cannot  describe  so  well  as  you  may  con- 
ceive the  striking  and  odd  contrast  of  these 
two  characters  :  and  what  strange  sparks  are 
produced  by  the  collision  of  them.  When 
she  imagines  that  Cytherea  acknowledges  her 
divinity,  and  he  grasps  in  his  hand  the  lyre 
of  Apollo  ;  when  the  goddess  unfolds  herself 
to  view  with  imaginary  millions  at  her  feet, 
and  when  the  god  chides  the  chairs  and  tables 
for  not  being  awakened  into  a  cotillion  by  his 


39 

strains  ;  in  short,  when  the  sublime  fit  of  mad- 
ness is  on,  it  is  an  august  scene  :  but  if  the 
divinities  should  rival  each  other,  heaven 
changes  instantly  to  hell,  Venus  becomes  a 
trull,  and  Phoebus  a  blind  fiddler.  It  is  im- 
possible to  describe  the  riot;  not  only  re- 
turns, but  things  of  a  more  solid  nature  are 
thrown  at  each  other.  Homer's  genius  is  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  paint  celestial  combats. 
But  it  ends  not  here  :  the  superb  opera,  which 
was  acted,  at  least,  during  my  stay,  three 
times  a  week,  and  rehearsed  generally  every 
day,  for  the  most  part,  has  an  happy  conclu- 
sion. The  contest  requires  the  support  of 
nectar,  which  softens  the  edge  of  resentment, 
puts  the  parties  in  good  humour,  and  they  are 
soon  disposed  to  acknowledge  each  other's 
merit  and  station,  with  a  zeal  and  fondness 
superiour,  if  possible,  to  their  late  rage  and 
opposition.  A  number  of  collateral  circum- 
stances serve  as  interludes  to  the  grand  piece, 
and,  though  less  sublime,  are  not  less  enter- 
taining. 

You  will  now,  probably  be  no  longer  dis- 
pleased with  me  for  making  my  hiding-place 
a  secret.  One  hour's  attendance  upon  our 
orgies  would  have  done  for  you  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  suited  me.  I  wanted  something 


40 

to  hurry  my  spirits,  to  dissipate  my  thoughts, 
and  amuse  my  mind ;  and  I  found  it  in  this 
retreat.  You  know  enough  of  the  parties  to 
enter  into  my  description.  I  hope  it  will 
make  you  laugh  ;  but,  if  my  pen  should  fail, 
I  will  promise  to  make  your  sides  ach  when 
we  meet  again — a  pleasure  which  I  look  to 
with  a  most  sensible  impatience.  I  remain, 

Your's  most  truly, 


41 


LETTER  IX. 


SINCE  the  little  snatch  of  pleasure  I  en- 
joyed with  you,  I  have  been  again  obliged  to 
make  my  retreat :  I  had  made  good  my  ground, 
in  my  own  opinion,  but  the  devil  that  is  in  me 
would  not  suffer  me  to  maintain  it.  There  is  a 
proverb  of  Zoroaster  to  the  following  effect — • 
"  That  there  are  an  hundred  opportunities  of 
"  doing  ill  every  day,  but  that  of  doing  well 
"  comes  only  once  a  year."  There  is  some 
wit  and  much  truth  in  the  observation.  The 
wise  man  was  led  to  make  it,  I  suppose,  from 
the  circumstances  of  the  times  wherein  he  liv- 
ed ;  and,  if  it  had  been  his  lot  to  breathe  in 
these  latter  days,  he  would  be  equally  justi- 
fied in  forming  and  applying  such  an  opinion  ; 
and,  perhaps,  in  every  intervening  period.  In- 
deed, if  I  may  judge  from  my  own  experience, 
matters  are  still  growing  worse  ;  for  I  never 
fail  to  find  the  daily  opportunities,  but  the  an- 
nual one  has  ever  escaped  me. 

There  is  nothing  so  miserable,  and,  I  may 
add,  so  unfortunate,  as  to  have  nothing  to  do ! 


42 

The  peripatetick  principle,  that  Nature  abhors 
a  vacuum,  may  be  applied,  with  great  proprie- 
ty, to  the  human  intellect,  which  will  embrace 
any  thing,  however  criminal,  rather  than  be 
without  an  object.     It  is  a  matter  of  indubita- 
ble certainty  with  me,  that,  if  I  had  kept  my 
seat  in   Parliament,    most  of  .the  unpleasant 
predicaments  in  which  I  have  been  involved 
since  that  time  would  have  been  avoided.     I 
was    disposed  to    application   in  the  political 
line,  and  was  possessed  of  that  ready  faculty 
of  speech  which  would  have  enabled  me  to 
make    some   little    figure    in   the    senate.      I 
should  have  had   employment  ;  my  passions 
would  have  been  influenced  by  a  proper,  an- 
imating  object,    and   my   vanity   would  have 
been  sufficiently  satisfied.     During  the  short 
time  I  sat  in  Parliament,   I   found  myself  in 
the  situation  I  have  described  :   I  was  pleased 
with  the   character  ;    I   availed  myself  of  its 
privileges  while  I  possessed  them  ;  I  mingled 
in  publick  debate,   and  received  the  most  flat- 
tering testimonies  of  applause.     If  this  scene 
had  continued,  it  would  have  been  very  for- 
tunate for  myself,   and  have  saved  my  friends 
great   anxiety  and  many  alarms  :  you,   among 
the  rest,  would  have  been  spared  the  pain  of 
much    unavailing    counsel    and    disregarded 
admonition. 


43 

You  know  me  well  enough  to;  be  certain 
that  I  must  have  a  particular  and  not  a  coirw 
mon  objecf  to  employ  my  attention  :  it  must 
be  an  object  which  inspires  clesire,  calls  forth 
activity,  keeps  hope  upon  the  stretch,  and  has 
some  sort  of  high  colouring  about  it.  Power 
and  popular  reputation  are  of  this  kind,  and 
would  greatly  have  engrossed  my  thoughts 
and  wishes  ;  they  would  have  kept  under  the 
baser  passions  :  1  should  have  governed  them 
at  least,  and  my  slavery,  if  I  was  destined  to 
be  a  slave,  would  have  been  more  honourable. 
But,  losing  a  situation  so  suitable  to  me,  I  fell 
back  a  prey  to  that  influence  which  had  al- 
ready proved  so  fatal,  and  yielded  myself  a 
victim  to  an  habitual  dissoluteness  which 
formed  my  only  pleasure. 

I  do  not  mean  to  write  a  disrespectable 
thought  of  my  father  ;  I  would  not  offend  you 
by  doing  it ;  but,  surely,  his  ignorance  of  man- 
kind is  beyond  all  conception.  It  is  hardly 
credible  that  a  man  of  his  under  standing  and 
knowledge,  whose  life  has  been  ever  in  the 
world  and  the  most  polished  societies  of  it, 
who  writes  well  and  ably  on  its  manners, 
should  be  so  childish  in  its  concerns  as  to  de- 
serve the  coral  that  amused  and  the  go-cart 
that  sustained  him  sixty  years  ago.  I  write  in 


44 

confidence  ;  and  you  know  what  I  assert  to  be 
true.  Indeed,  I  might  go  further,  and  trace 
the  errours  of  my  own  life  from  the  want  of  that 
kind  of  paternal  discernment  which  sees  into 
the  character  of  his  child,  watches  over  its 
growing  dispositions,  gently  moulds  them  to 
his  will,  and  completes  the  whole  by  placing 
him  in  a  situation  suitable  to  him. 

I  have  been  the  victim  of  vanity  ;  and  the 
sacrifice  of  me  was  begun  before  I  could  form 
a  judgment  of  the  passion.  You  will,  proba- 
bly, understand  me ;  but,  if  there  should  be 
the  least  gloom  in  my  allusions,  I  will,  with 
your  leave,  explain  the  matter  more  clearly  in 
some  future  letter.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
difference  between  a  good  man  and  a  good  fa- 
ther :  I  have  known  bad  men  who  excelled  my 
father  as  much  in  parental  care  as  he  was  su- 
periour  to  them  in  real  virtue. — But  more  of 
this  hereafter.  In  the  mean  time,  and  at  all 
times, 

I  am,  &c. 


45 


LETTER  X. 


YOU  have,  certainly,  given  yourself  ve- 
ry unjustifiable  airs  upon  my  subject :  neither 
your  talents,  knowledge,  figure,  courage,  or 
virtue  afford  you  the  shadow  of  that  superi- 
ority over  me,  which,  I  understand,  you  affect 
to  maintain.  However  imprudent  or  bad  my 
conduct  may  have  been,  whatever  vices  I  may 
unfortunately  possess,  be  assured  I  do  not  en- 
vy you  your  sniveling  virtues,  which  are  worse 
than  the  worst  of  vices,  and  give  an  example 
of  meanness  and  hypocrisy  in  the  extreme. — 
Your  letter  is  a  farrago  of  them  both ;  and 
since  the  receipt  of  it  I  despise  you  more  than 
ever. 

What,  Sir !  has  my  father  got  a  cough,  or 
does  he  look  thinner  than  usual  and  read  his 
Bible  ?  There  must  be  some  certain  symptom 
of  his  decay  and  dissolution  that  could  induce 
you  to  address  yourself  so  kindly  to  one,  who, 
to  use  your  own  expression,  is,  as  he  ought  to 
be,  abandoned  by  his  family.  You  have  dream- 
ed of  an  hatchment  upon house,  and 


46 

seen  a  visionary  coronet  suspended  over  my 
brow.  You  are  a  simpleton  and  a  parasite  to 
let  such  weak  reasons  guide  you  to  wag  your 
tail  and  play  the  spaniel,  and  renew  your  of- 
fers to  fetch  and  carry.  Be  assured,  for  your 
comfort,  that,  if  ever  you  and  I  have  any  fu- 
ture intercourse  together,  it  will  be  upon  such 
terms,  or  worse. 

I  have  heard  it  said,  and  I  believe  it  to  be 
true,  that  you  pretend  to  lament  your  poor 
's  fate,  and,  with  a  more  than  rueful  vis- 
age, prognosticate  the  breaking  of  his  heart 
from  the  wicked  life  of  his  graceless  son.  Now, 
I  will  tell  you  a  secret,  that,  supposing  such 
a  canting  prophecy  should  take  place  to-mor- 
row, you  would  be  the  first  to  flatter  the  par- 
ricide. I  consider  you  with  a  mixture  of  scorn 
and  pity,  when  I  see  you  so  continually  ham- 
pered in  difficulties  from  your  regard  to  the 
present  and  future  Lord :  though  you  order 
your  matters  tolerably  well ;  for  there  is  not 
one  of  our  family  to  whom  your  hypocritical 
canting  will  not  answer  in  some  measure,  but 
to  myself.  I  know  you,  and  I  declare  you  to 
be  incapable  of  any  love  or  affection  to  any 
one,  even  to  a  mother  or  a  sister.  You  know 
what  I  mean :  but,  to  quit  an  idea  abhorrent 
to  human  nature,  let  me  intrcat  you,  if  it  is»  in 


47 

your  power,  to  act  with  candour  ;  and,  if  you 
must  speak  of  me,  tell  your  sentiments  open- 
ly, and  not  with  those  covert  looks  and  affect- 
ed shrugs,  which  convey  so  much  more  than 
meets  the  ear — and  be  so  good,  I  pray  you,  as 
to  raise  your  merit  upon  your  own  mighty 
stock  of  virtues,  and  not  upon  my  vices.  The 
world  will  one  day  judge  between  us,  and  I 
must  desire  you  to  Le  content  with  the  ac- 
knowledged superiority  you  will  receive  from 
the  arbitration  in  your  favour. 

Oh,  stnlfum  oimis  est,  cum  tu  pravissima  lenfes, 
Alterius  censor  ut  viiiosa  notes! 


I  have  not  yet  sung  a  requiem  to  my  own 
honour  ;  and,  though  you  and  some  others  of 
my  good  friends  may  have  chaunted  a  dirge 
over  the  grave  you  have  yourselves  dug  fcr 
it,  it  does  not  rest  without  the  hopes  of  a  joyful 
and  speedy  resurrection.  To  have  done  with 
you  for  the  present,  I  have  only  to  desire  you 
to  be  an  open  enemy  to  me,  or  a  real  friend, 
if  you  are  capable  of  either  :  the  halting  be- 
tween two  opinions  on  the  matter  is  both  dis- 
graceful and  contemptible.  Be  assured  that  I 
give  you  these  counsels  more  for  your  own 
^  than  for  that  of 

Your  humble  servant,  £kc. 


LETTER  XL 


MY  DEAR  SIR, 

YOU  wish  that  I  should  explain  myself 
at  large  with  respect  to  that  vanity,  which  I 
accuse  of  having  been  the  cause  of  every  in- 
convenience and  misdoing  of  my  past  life,  to 
which  I  owe  the  disagreeable  circumstances 
of  my  present  situation  and  shall  be  indebt- 
ed, probably,  for  some  future  events  which,  I 
fear,  are  in  store  for  me. 

You  will,  I  believe,  agree  with  me,  that 
vanity  is  the  foible  of  my  family :  every  indi- 
vidual has  a  share  of  it  for  himself  and  for 
the  rest ;  they  are  all  equally  vain  of  them- 
selves, and  of  one  another.  It  is  not,  how- 
ever, an  unamiable  vanity:  it  makes  them 
happy,  though  it  may  sometimes  render  them 
ridiculous ;  and  it  never  did  an  injury  to  any 
one  but  to  me.  I  have  every  reason  to  load  it 
with  execration,  and  to  curse  the  hour  when 
this  passion  was  concentrated  to  myself. 

Being  the  only  boy  and  hopes  of  the  fami- 


ly,  and  having  such  an  hereditary  and  collat- 
eral right  to  genius,  talents,  and  virtue,  (for 
this  was  the  language  held  by  certain  persons 
at  that  time,)  my  earliest  prattle  was  the  sub- 
ject of  continual  admiration.  As  I  encreased 
in  years,  I  was  encouraged  in  boldness,  which 
partial  fancy  called  manly  confidence  ;  while 
sallies  of  impertinence,  for  which  I  should 
have  been  scourged,  were  fondly  considered 
as  marks  of  an  astonishing  prematurity  of  abil- 
ities. As  it  happened,  Nature  had  not  been 
a  niggard  to  me ;  it  is  true  she  has  given  me 
talents,  but  accompanied  them  with  disposi- 
tions which  demanded  no  common  repressure 
and  restraint,  instead  of  liberty  and  encour- 
agement :  but  this  vanity  had  blinded  the  eyes 
not  only  of  my  relations,  but  also  of  their  in- 
timate connections ;  and,  I  suppose,  such  an 
hot-bed  of  flattery  was  never  before  used  to 
spoil  a  mind,  and  to  choak  it  with  bad  quali- 
ties, as  was  applied  to  mine.  The  late  Lord 

Bath,    Mrs. ,   and  many  others   have 

been  guilty  of  administering  fuel  to  the  flame, 
and  joined  in  the  family  incense  to  such  an 
idol  as  myself.  Thus  was  I  nursed  into  a  very 
early  state  of  audacity ;  and  being  able,  almost 
at  all  times,  to  get  the  laugh  against  a  father, 
or  an  uncle,  <kc.  I  was  not  backward  in  giving 

G 


50 

such  impertinent  specimens  of  my  ability. — 
This  is  the  history  of  that  impudence  which 
has  been  my  bane,  gave  to  my  excesses  such 
peculiar  accompaniments,  and  caused  those, 
who  would  not  have  hesitated  to  commit  the 
offence,  loudly  to  condemn  the  mode  of  its 
commission  in  me. 

When  I  drew  towards  manhood,  it  will  be 
sufficient  to  say,  that  I  began  to  have  some 
glimmering  of  the  family  weakness  :  howev- 
er, I  was  still  young ;  dependence  was  a  con- 
siderable restraint ;  and  I  had  not  acquired 
that  subsequent  knowledge  of  the  world 
which  changed  my  notions  of  paternal  author- 
ity. I  was,  therefore,  without  much  difficul- 
ty, brought  to  consent  to  the  design  of  giving 
solidity  to  my  character,  and  preserving  me 
from  publick  contagion,  by  marriage.  A  rich 
and  amiable  young  lady  was  chosen  to  the  hap- 
py and  honourable  task  of  securing  so  much 
virtue  as  mine,  to  correct  the  natural  exuber- 
ance of  youthful  inexperience,  and  to  shape 
me  into  that  perfection  of  character  which  was 
to  verify  the  dreams  of  my  visionary  relations. 

I  must  own  that  the  lady  was  both  amiable 
and  handsome,  but  cold  as  an  anchorite  ;  and, 
though  formed  to  be  the  best  wife  in  the  world 
to  a  good  husband,  was  by  no  means  calcu- 


51 

lated  to  reclaim  a  bad  one.  But,  to  complete 
the  sensible  and  well-digested  plan  in  which 
so  many  wise  heads  were  concerned,  it  was 
determined  for  me  to  make  the  tour  of  Europe, 
previous  to  my  marriage,  in  order  to  perfec- 
tionate  my  matrimonial  qualifications  ;  and  the 
lovely  idea  of  the  fair  maid  I  left  behind,  was 
presented  to  me,  as  possessing  a  talismanict 
power  to  preserve  me  from  seduction.  But 
this  was  not  all :  for  the  better  enabling  me  to 
make  a  proper  and  becoming  appearance,  or, 
in  other  words,  to  give  me  every  means  of 
gratification,  the  family  purse  was  lavishly 
held  forth  ;  I  was  left  almost  without  controul 
in  point  of  expense,  and  every  method  pursu- 
ed to  make  me  return  the  very  reverse  of  what 
expectation  had  painted  me.  You  know  as 
well  as  myself  what  happened  during  my  trav- 
els, as  well  as  after  my  return  ;  and  I  trust 
that  you  will  impute  my  misconduct,  in  part,, 
at  least,  to  its  primary  cause. 

In  this  short  sketch  of  the  matter,  which 
consists  rather  of  hints  than  descriptions,  you 
will  see  the  drift  of  my  reasoning,  and  know 
how  to  apply  it  to  a  thousand  circumstances  in 
your  remembrance.  You  were  present  at  my 
being  received  into  the  arms  of  my  family  with 
a  degree  of  warmth,  delight,  and  triumph, 


52 

which  the  brightest  virtue  could  alone  have 
deserved ;  and  you  recollect  the  cause  of  all 
this  rapturous  forgiveness,  which,  I  believe, 
penitence  itself  would  not,  at  that  time,  have 
effected :  it  was  my  having  made  a  speech  in 
Parliament,  flowery,  indeed,  and  bold,  but  ve- 
ry little  to  the  purpose  ;  and,  at  a  time  when, 
as  I  was  certain  that  I  should  lose  my  seat,  it 
would  have  been  prudent  in  me  to  have  remain- 
ed silent — however,  Mr.  Ellis  thought  proper 
to  compliment  me  upon  the  occasion,  and  to 
observe  that  I  spoke  with  hereditary  abilities ; 
and  this  circumstance  instantly  occasioned  the 
short-lived  family  truce  that  succeeded. 

That  my  relations  may  have  cause  to  com- 
plain of  me,  I  do  not  deny ;  but  this  confession 
is  accompanied  with  an  opinion,  in  which,  I 
doubt  not  of  your  acquiescence,  that  I,  on  my 
side  also,  have  no  small  cause  of  complaint : 
and,  however  black  the  colour  of  my  future 
life  may  be,  I  shall  ever  consider  that  the  dusky 
scenes  of  it  are  occasioned  by  the  vanity  of  my 
family,  and  not  by  any  obdurate  or  inflexible 
dispositions  inherent  in  my  own  character.  I 
am,  with  great  regard, 

Your's,  &CQ. 


53 


LETTER  XII. 


IF  you  had  been  at  all  explicit  with  me 
about  the  Arabian  Courser,  he  should,  most 
certainly,  have  been  at  your  service.  Not- 
withstanding he  was  the  gift  of  Hymen,  to 
whom  I  have  so  few -obligations,  the  animal 
was  a  favourite,  and  I  brought  him  to  the  con- 
tinent with  me,  where  he  was  very  trouble- 
some and  very  useless.  But  he  troubles  me 
no  more ;  and  a  little  ridiculous  event,  which 
happened  a  few  weeks  ago,  made  me  hate  and 
detest  him.  If  there  had  been  any  laughers, 
the  laugh  would  have  been  very  much  against 
me  on  the  occasion  :  as  it  was,  I  felt  and  look- 
ed so  foolish,  that  I  never  afterwards  could 
turn  a  favourable  eye  upon  the  beast  that  was 
the  cause  of  my  mortification. 

I  shall  not  give  you  an  account  of  this  little 
history  ;  for,  as  I  am  the  principal  hero  of  it,  I 
shall  not  tell  it  well :  so  I  resign  the  task  to 
p .  When  you  see  him,  therefore,  ques- 


54 

tion  him  upon  the  subject,  and  he  will  do  it 
justice.  He  is  a  most  lively,  good-humoured, 
and  pleasant  man,  who  bears  the  ills  of  life  as 
if  they  were  blessings,  and  seems  to  take  the 
rough  and  the  smooth  with  an  equal  counten- 
ance. This  sort  of  unbended  philosophy  is 
the  best  gift  that  Nature  can  bestow  on  her 
children ;  it  lightens  the  burden  of  care,  and 
turns  every  sable  and  ghastly  hue  of  melan- 
choly to  bright  and  splendid  colours.  There 

is  no  one  I  envy  so  much  as  I  do  P :  a 

cap  and  bells  is  a  crown  to  him  ;  a  tune  upon 
a  flageolet  is  a  concert — if  the  sun  shines,  he 
sports  himself  in  its  beams ;  if  the  storm  comes, 
he  skips  gayly  along,  and  when  he  is  wet  to 
the  skin,  it  only  serves  to  make  out  a  pleasant 
story  while  he  is  drying  himself  at  the  fire.  If 
you  are  dull  after  dinner,  he  will  get  him  up 
and  rehearse  half  a  dozen  scenes  out  of  a  play, 
and  do  it  well,  and  be  as  pleased  with  his  per- 
formance as  you  can  be.  With  all  these  com- 
panionable talents,  he  is  neither  forward,  noisy, 
or  impertinent ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  very  con- 
versable, and  possesses  as  pleasant  a  kind  of 
good-breeding  as  any  one  I  ever  knew. 

His  company  has  been  a  great  relief  to  me, 
and  I  recommend  you  to  cultivate  his  acquaint- 
ance as  an  entertaining  and  agreeable  compan- 


55 

ion.  You  and  I,  my  dear  friend,  are  differ- 
ently, and,  I  must  add,  less  happily  framed. 
We  are  hurried  about  by  every  gust  and  whirl- 
wind of  passion ;  and,  though  hope  does  throw 
a  pale  gilding  upon  our  disappointments,  fear 
never  fails  to  interrupt  our  pleasures. — I  would 
give  more  than  half  of  what  I  shall  ever  be 

worth,  to  be  blessed  with  a  moiety  of  P 's 

temper  and  disposition. 

I  am, 


56 


LETTER  XIII. 


MY  DEAR  FRIEND, 

I  BEG  your  pardon,  and  plead  guilty  to 
the  crime  laid'to  my  charge  !  The  Dialogues, 
which  you  have  seen,  were  written  by  me,  on 
hints  given  me  by  an  infidel  Frenchman  at  Tu- 
rin.* That  it  was  a  folly,  to  say  no  worse,  to 
amuse  myself  with  such  compositions,  I  read- 
ily acknowledge ;  nor  am  I  less  disposed  to 
own  that  it  was  the  weakest  of  all  vanities  to 
disperse  any  copies  of  them.  Your  suspicion 
of  their  having  been  composed  in  an  evil  hour, 
as  a  ridicule  upon  those  which  have  been 
published  by  my  father,  is  a  natural  one  ;  but, 
believe  me,  it  is  not  founded  in  fact.  Bad  as 
they  may  be,  they  were  not  writ  for  so  bad  a 
purpose ;  and,  if  I  had  considered  the  possi- 
bility of  such  an  ide"a  becoming  prevalent,  they 
would  never  have  been  exposed  to  any  inspec- 

*  These  Dialogues  are  too  irreverent  and  profane  to  justify  a  publication. 
The  personages  of  the  first  are  the  Saviour  cf  the  World  and  Socratci ;  and  of 
the  second)  King  DaviJ  and  deiar  Bsrgitt, 


57 

tion.  I  wrote  them  originally  in  French,  and 
never,  to  my  recollection,  gave  them  an  Eng- 
lish dress,  but  when  I  read  them  accidentally 
to  some  one  who  did  not  understand  the  form- 
er language.  I  was  flattered  into  the  suffer- 
ing of  some  copies  to  be  taken  by  the  declara- 
tion of  a  respectable  literary  company,  that 
they  were  superiour  to  Voltaire's  Tragedy  of 
Saul ;  and  these  copies  must  have  been  greatly 
multiplied  to  have  made  it  possible  that  one  of 
them  should  have  reached  you.  I  am  very 
sorry  for  it ;  for  you  have  already  more  than 
sufficient  reason  to  fill  your  letters  to  me  with 
reproaches ;  and  I  curse  the  chance  that  has 
thrown  another  motive  in  your  way  to  contin- 
ue a  train  so  disagreeable  to  us  both. 

It  is  true  that  my  father  is  a  Christian,  and 
has  given  an  ample  testimony  of  his  faith  to 
the  world  by  his  writings :  but  it  was  long  af- 
ter he  attained  to  my  age  that  he  became  a  con- 
vert to  that  system  which  he  has  defended. 
It  is  painful  in  me,  and  hardly  fair  in  you,  to 
occasion  our  being  brought  together  in  the 
same  period :  it  takes  from  me  the  means  of 
justification  where  I  could  use  them,  and  of 
palliation  where  a  complete  defence  might  not 
be  practicable. — As  to  my  Right  Reverend 
uncle,  I  shall  consider  him  with  less  ceremony. 

H 


53. 

He  also  may  be  a  good  Christian ;  but  I  re- 
collect to  have  heard  him  make  a  better  dis- 
course upon  the  outside  ornaments  of  an  old 
Gothick  pulpit,  I  think  it  was  at  JVolverhamp- 
ton,  than  he  ever  delivered  in  one,  through- 
out the  whok  course  of  his  evangelical  la- 
bours. He  seems  much  more  at  home  in  a 
little  harangue  on  some  doubtful  remnant  of 
a  Saxon  tomb-stone,  than  in  urging  the  per- 
formance of  Christian  duties,  or  guarding,  with 
his  lay-brother,  the  Christian  fortress  against 
infidel  invasion.  I  well  remember  also  to  have 
heard  his  Right  Reverence  declare,  that  he 
would  willingly  give  one  of  his  fingers,  (that 
was  his  expression,)  to  have  a  good  natural 
history  of  Worcestershire.  What  holy  ardour 
he  may  possess  as  an  Antiquarian  I  cannot 
tell ;  but,  in  my  conscience,  I  think  he  would 
make  a  sorry  figure  as  a  Christian  Martyr,  and 
that  a  zeal  for  our  holy  religion  would  not  en- 
flame  him  to  risk  the  losing  of  a  nail  from  his 
finger. 

I  repeat  to  you,  upon  my  honour,  that  I 
did  not  wish  these  jeux  d'esprit  should  have 
gone  beyond  the  limits  I  had  prescribed  for 
them.  The  very  few  persons  to  whom  I  gave 
them  were  bound,  by  a  very  solemn  promise, 
not  to  circulate  their  contents,  or  to  name  their 


59 

author.  If  they  have  forfeited  their  word,  I 
am  sorry  for  it ;  but  the  failure  of  their  en- 
gagement cannot  be  imputed  to  me,  and  the 
severest  judge  would  not  think  me  guilty  of 
more  than  chance-medley  on  the  occasion.  In 
your  breast,  I  hope,  there  is  a  complete  and 
full  acquittal  for 

Your  most  sincere  and  obliged,  &c. 


6Q 


LETTER 


MY  DEAR 


I  CANNOT  bring  it  within  the  compass 
of  my  belief,  that  H has  escaped  your  re- 
collection :  however,  I  shall  be  able  to  restore 
it  to  its  proper  tone  in  a  moment,  by  mention- 
ing an  ode  addressed  by  him  to  me  on  the  sub- 
ject of  gaming.  You  admired  it  too  much  to 
have  forgot  the  author  ;  and  it  now  occurs  to 
me,  that  you,  or  some  one  in  the  company, 
rehearsed  on  the  occasion  a  long  string  of 
laughable  Eton  and  Oxford  anecdotes  concern- 
ing him :  nay,  the  very  last  time  we  were  to- 
gether, you  sarcastically  repeated  to  me  some 
of  his  vaticinations  on  my  impetuous  attach- 
ment to  play,  and  kindly  foretold  the  comple- 
tion of  them.  After  all,  I  believe  you  are 
either  laughing  at  me,  or  pretending  ignorance 
of  my  bard,  in  order  to  have  an  hash  of  the 
same  dish,  which  you  are  pleased  to  say  de- 
lighted you  so  much  in  my  last  letter. 


61 

Was  it  not  you  (or  do  I  dream)  who  was 
so  charmed  with  that  part  of  his  poem  where 
he  describes  my  being  so  reduced  by  gaming 

as  to  be  abliged  to  sell  H ,  and  supposes 

the  estate  to  be  bought  by  the  descendant  of 
some  felon  who  was  reprieved  from  death  to 
transportation  by  my  ancestor  the  yudge,  whose 
picture  he  tears  down  from  the  wall,  as  a  sight 
disgusting  to  him  ?  I  am  not  certain  as  to  the 
correctness  of  my  recollection,  but  the  lines 
are,  I  believe,  to  the  following  effect  : 

Shall  some  unfeeling  stranger  reign 

Within  that  blest  domain  ? 

Some  convict's  spawn,  by  thy  forefathers  breath, 

Perchance,  reprieved  from  death  ? 

Whilst  thou,  self-banished,  self-enslaved,  shall  roam, 

Without  a  friend  or  home  ! 

— Still  shall  he  tremble  at  the  Judge's  frown, 

And,  fraught  with  spite,  tear  down, 

From  the  repining  wall,  his  venerable  shade,  &c. 

It  is  a  composition  of  great  merit ;  and,  if  he 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  a  sense  of  har- 
mony, he  would  almost  put  an  end  to  the  pre- 
sent vacation  of  poetry  and  poets.  His  thoughts 
are  original,  bold,  and  nervous  ;  his  images 
apt,  lively,  and  beautiful ;  his  language  is  nev- 
er puerile,  but  sometimes  low,  and  sometimes 
inflated.  If  his  taste  was  improved,  and  he 
had  an  ear  for  versification,  which  I  think  he 
has  not,  his  compositions  would  be  delightful. 


62 

and,  as  I  have  already  observed,  place  him 

in  the  first  rank  of  modern  poets.     P s,  I 

believe,  sometimes  visits  him,  and  will  most 
willingly  present  you  a  Monsieur  and  Madame^ 
if  you  make  known  your  wishes  to  him. — A 
letter  from  me  would  shut  his  door  against 
you:  my  former  favour  was  never  equal  to 
my  present  disgrace ;  and  if  you  wish  to  be 
well  in  that  quarter,  you  must  not  acknowl- 
edge the  least  regard  for  me.  Indeed,  you 
would  do  well  never  to  mention  the  name  of 

Your  affectionate,  &c. 


63 


AND  I  awoke,  and  behold  I  was  a  Lord ! 
It  was  no  unpleasant  transition,  you  will  read- 
ily believe,  from  infernal  dreams  and  an  un- 
easy pillow,  from  insignificance  and  derelic- 
tion, to  be  a  Peer  of  Great  Britain,  with  all 
the  privileges  attendant  upon  that  character, 
and  some  little  estate  into  the  bargain.  My 
sensations  are  very  different  from  any  I  have 
experienced  for  some  time  past.  My  conse- 
quence, both  internal  and  external,  is  already 
greatly  elevated ;  and  the  empressment  of  the 
people  about  me  is  so  suddenly  encreased  as 
to  be  ridiculous.  By  heavens  !  my  dear  — 
— ,  we  are  a  very  contemptible  set  of  beings  ; 
and  so  on. 

Without  meaning  any  thing  so  detestable  as 
a  pun,  I  shall  certainly  lord  it  over  a  few  of 
those  who  have  looked  disdain  at  me.  My 
coronet  shall  glitter  scorn  at  them,  and  insult 
their  low  souls  to  the  extreme  of  mortifica- 


64 

tion.     I  have  received  a  letter  from ,  that 

dirty  parasite,  full  of  condolence  and  congrat- 
ulation, with  a  my  Lord  in  every  line,  and  your 
Lordship  in  every  period.  I  will  make  the 
rascal  lick  the  dust ;  and,  when  he  has  flatter- 
ed me  till  his  tongue  is  parched  with  lies,  I 
will  upbraid  him  with  his  treason,  and  turn  my 
back  upon  him  for  ever.  There  are  a  score 
of  bugs,  or  more,  of  the  same  character,  whom 
the  beams  of  my  prosperity  will  warm  into 
servility,  and  whose  names  will  be  left  at  my 
door  before  I  have  been  ten  days  in  town ;  but 
may  eternal  ignominy  overtake  me,  if  I  do  not 
make  the  tenderest  vein  in  their  hearts  ach 
with  my  reproach  !  Whether  the  world  will 
be  converted  into  respect  towards  me,  I  do 
not  pretend  to  determine  ;  its  anger  will,  at  all 
events,  be  softened:  but,  be  that  as  it  may, 
I  can  look  it  in  the  face  with  less  fear  than  I 
was  wont  to  do,  and  make  it  smile  upon  my 
political  career,  though  it  may  still  hold  a 
frowning  aspect  towards  my  moral  character. 
Permit  me,  however,  to  assure  you,  that 
whatever  change  may  appear  in  me  towards 
others,  I  shall  ever  be  the  same  to  you.  The 
acquisition  of  fortune,  and  an  elevation  to 
honours,  will  not  vary  a  line  in  my  regard  to 
those  whose  friendship  has  been  so  faithful  to 


65 

me  as  your's  has  been  ;  nor  shall  you  ever 
have  cause  to  repent  of  your  assiduous  kind- 
ness to  me.  There  is  a  balance  in  the  human 
passions,  and  the  mind  that  is  awake  to  a  spir- 
it of  revenge  is  equally  inspired  by  the  senti- 
ments of  gratitude.  There  is  a  dirty  crew  who 
shall  experience  the  former,  while  you  may 
confide  in  my  solemn  assurance  to  you  of  a 
most  ample  exertion  of  the  latter. 

A  propos :  I  must  beg  of  you  to  forward  the 
enclosed  letter  to .  With  much  dif- 
ficulty I  persuaded  her  some  time  ago  to  re- 
turn to  England ;  and  I  am  apprehensive  she 
may  be  already  in  town,  expecting  my  arrival. 
If  it  be  possible,  contrive  some  means  to  free 
me  from  her  persecutions,  both  for  her  sake 
and  my  own.  Should  she  be  come  to  London, 
you  will  know  where  to  find  her :  make  any 
promises  you  may  think  necessary  in  my  name, 
and  use  every  reason  your  imagination  can 
suggest,  to  persuade  her  to  return  into  the 
country. — You  understand  me. 

and arc  gone  from  hence 

this  morning,  to  indulge  their  fancies  in  the 
business  of  cold  iron  and  powder  and  ball.  I 
was  very  near  being  hampered  in  the  affair ; 
but  my  sable  suit  and  funeral  duties  excused 
me  from  the  employment,  and  I  suppose  the 


0(5 

first  news  I  shall  hear  of  the  event  will  be  in 
England,  where  I  hope  shortly  to  see  and  em- 
brace you.  In  the  mean  time,  believe  me 

Most  sincerely  your's,  &cc. 


67 


LETTER  XVI. 


YOUR  letter  reached  me  with  a  large 
packet  of  others,  which  my  father's  death  had 
occasioned.  How  altered  is  the  language  of 
them  upon  the  occasion  !  Your's,  indeed,  is 
exactly  the  same,  or,  if  any  thing,  bears  the 
tincture  of  more  than  usual  severity.  Flattery 
is  a  strain  altogether  new  to  me,  and  by  the 
two  last  posts  I  have  had  enough  to  surfeit 
the  most  arrant  coquette  upon  earth.  It  is 
true,  I  cannot  compliment  your  letter  with  pos- 
sessing an  atom  of  adulation ;  nevertheless,  it 
is  the  only  one  which  has  given  me  real  pleas- 
ure, because  it  is  the  only  one  which  bears 
the  characters  of  real  friendship.  Though  I 
have  acted  in  such  a  direct  opposition  to  your 
cautions  and  remonstrances,  I  am  not  the  less 
sensible  to  that  generous  passion,  which  pro- 
duced them,  and  has  now  taken  the  first  op- 
portunity to  give  me  the  essence,  as  it  were, 
of  all  your  former  counsels,  in  thus  calling 


68 

my  attention  to  real  and  permanent  honour. 
However  I  may  offend  you  hereafter,  you 
shall  never  again  have  cause  to  reproach  me 
with  a  forfeiture  of  my  word.  I  have,  at  pres- 
ent, lost  that  confidence  in  myself,  which 
would  justify  me  in  offering  assurances  to 
you :  the  hopes  of  regaining  it,  however,  are 
not  entirely  vanished,  and  when  they  are  ful- 
filled, which,  I  trust,  they  will  one  day  be, 
you  shall  receive  the  first  fruits  of  my  reno- 
vation. 

I  understand  the  purpose  of  your  observa- 
tion, that  the  generality  of  men  employ  the 
first  part  of  life  in  making  the  remainder  of  it 
miserable.  .  I  feel  its  force,  and  consider  it  as 
an  indirect  caution  to  me  not  to  pursue  a  con- 
duct which  must  be  attended  with  such  a  la- 
mentable consequence.  But,  alas  !  credula 
turbit  sitmus  ;  though  I  have  paid  dearly  for 
my  credulity,  unless  it  should  be  immediately 
.-.the  fruits  of  an  wholesome  expc- 
cc.  We  despise  the  world  when  we  know 
it  thoroughly ;  but  we  give  ourselves  up  to  it 
before  we  know  it,  and  the  heart  is  frequent- 
ly lost  befpre  it  is  illuminated  by  the  irradia- 
tions of  reason. 

I  have  now  succeeded  to  the  possession  of 
those  privileges  which  arc  a  part,  and  perhaps 


69 

the  best  part  of  my  inheritance.  Clouds  and 
darkness  no  longer  rest  upon  me.  My  exteri- 
our  of  things  is  totally  changed  ;  and,  howev- 
er unmoved  some  men's  minds  may  be  by  out- 
ward circumstances,  mine  is  not  composed  of 
such  cold  materials  as  to  be  unaffected  by 
them.  Such  an  active  spirit  as  animates  my 
frame,  must  have  objects  important  in  their 
nature,  inviting  in  their  appearance,  and  ani- 
mating in  their  pursuit.  No  longer  forced  to 
drown  the  sensibility  to  publick  disgrace  and 
private  inconvenience  in  Circean  draughts,  my 
character,  I  trust,  will  unfold  qualities  which 
it  has  not  been  thought  to  possess,  and  finally 
dissipate  the  kind  apprehensions  of  friendship. 
My  natural  genius  will  now  have  a  full 
scope  for  exertion  in  the  line  of  political  duty ; 
and  I  am  disposed  to  natter  myself,  that  the 
application  necessary  to  make  a  respectable 
figure  in  that  career,  will  leave  me  but  little 
time  for  those  miserable  pursuits,  which,  of 
late,  have  been  my  only  resource.  But  I 
must  desire  you  not  to  expect  an  instant  con- 
version :  the  sera  of  miracles  is  passed;  and, 
besides,  the  world  would  suspect  its  sincerity. 
It  is  true,  I  am  sinner  sufficient  to  call  down 
the  interposition  of  Heaven,  but  the  present 
age  has  no  claim  to  such  celestial  notices. — 


70 

My  amendment  must  be  slow  and  progressive, 
though,  I  trust,  in  the  end,  sincere  and  ef- 
fectual. But  be  assured,  that,  however  the 
completion  of  your  good  wishes  for  me  may 
be  deferred,  I  am  perfectly  sensible  that  there 
is  something  necessary  besides  title,  rank,  and 
fortune,  to  constitute  true  honour. — With  this 
sentiment  I  take  my  leave  of  you,  and  am, 

with  real  truth, 

Your's, 


71 


LETTER  XFIL 


MY  DEAR 


I  AM  at  an  inn,  and  alone  ;  and,  if  you 
were  to  guess  for  ten  years,  and  had  one  of 
Osborne's  Catalogues  to  assist  you,  sure  I  am 
that  you  would  not  divine  the  book  which  has 
amused  my  evening,  and  given  a  subject  to 
this  letter :  nay,  I  may  venture  to  tell  you  it 
is  poetical,  and  still  bid  defiance  to  your  pen- 
etration. 

My  two  travelling  volumes  had  been  read 
twice  in  the  course  of  my  journey,  and,  as  it 
would  not  be  worth  the  trouble  to  unpack  a 
trunk  for  more,  I  desired  the  waiter  to  ask  his 
mistress  to  send  me  a  book ;  and  in  the  inte- 
rim I  amused  myself  with  fancying  what  kind 
of  publication  would  be  brought  me,  resolv- 
ing, however,  if  it  should  be  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man,  or  even 
the  Holy  Bible,  to  make  it  the  subject  of  my 
evening's  lucubrations.  The  waiter  returned, 
and  desired  to  know  if  I  chose  prose  or  verse. 


This  I  thought  looked  well ;  and  my  prefer- 
ence being  declared  for  the  latter,  I  was,  in  a 
few  minutes,  presented  with  a  small  volume, 
which  I  found  to  be  a  Presbyterian  hymn  book, 
entitled  Horcc  Lyrics,  by  a  Dr.  Watts.  My 
expectations  were  a  little  chagrined  upon  the 
occasion  :  however,  I  turned  over  a  few  pages, 
looking  cursorily  at  the  contents  in  my  way, 
when  I  dropped  upon  a  little  odd  composition, 
the  subject  of  which  wras  no  less  singular  than 
applicable  to  myself.  The  title  of  it  was,  Few 
Happy  Matches.  From  the  character  of  the 
author,  who  was  a  dissenting  minister,  I  had 
conceived  that  the  reasons  of  matrimonial  in- 
felicity would  be  trite,  whining,  and  scriptural, 
and  that  I  should  find  some  bouncing. anathe- 
mas against  such  offenders  as  your  humble 
servant :  but  it  turned  out  quite  otherwise  ; 
the  idea  is  a  fanciful  one;  and  I  dare  affirm, 
that,  if  Apollo  and  the  Nine  Muses  had  racked 
their  brains  for  a  twelvemonth,  they  could  not 
have  hit  upon  such  a  conceit. 

The  poet  supposes  that  human  souls  come 
forth  in  pairs  of  male  and  female  from  the 
hands  of  the  Creator,  who  gives  them  to  the 
winds  of  Heaven  to  bear  them  to  our  lower 
world,  where,  if  they  arrive  safe  and  meet 
again,  they  instinctively  impel  the  bodies  they 


73 

animate  towards  each  other,  so  as  to  produce 
an  Hymeneal  union,  which,  being  originally 
designed  by  their  author,  must  be  necessarily 
happy ;  but,  as  from  the  length  of  the  way, 
and  the  many  storms,  &c.  that  check  and  come 
across  it,  they  are  generally  separated  before 
they  reach  their  destination,  their  re-union  is 
very  rare ;  and  the  forming  an  alliance  with 
any  other  but  the  original  counterpart,  being, 
as  it  were,  an  extraneous  connexion,  must  be 
necessarily  miserable,  and  will  produce  those 
jarrings  and  contentions  which  so  generally 
disturb  matrimonial  life.  This  ingenious  fan- 
cy will  make  you  smile  ;  nor  would  the  ideas 
which  occur  to  me  on  the  subject  re-brace  your 
muscles,  if  I  had  paper  or  time  to  bear  me  out 
in  them.  They  must  serve  for  another  oppor- 
tunity. Thus,  according  to  my  good  Doctor 
Watts,  matches  are  made  in  heaven,  but  mar- 
riages on  earth.  I  should  think  some  of  them 
have  been  fabricated  in  — —  * 

#  *  *  *  *  *         .  * 

******* 
****#*.# 

*       but  no  more  of  that. 
I  really  feel  myself  much  indebted  to  this 
Pindarick  Presbyterian  for    setting  my  con- 
science at  rest,  which,  now  and  then,  had  a 

K 


74 

momentary  qualm  on  a  certain  subject.  The 
unlucky  counterpart,  which  accompanied  my 
soul  from  Heaven's  gates,  was  tossed  in  some 
whirlwind,  driven  by  some  lightning,  or  de- 
tained by  some  aerial  frost,  and,  at  length,  I 
I  suppose,  cast  ashore  among  the  antipodes. 
We  are  not  destined,  I  believe,  to  meet  again ; 
and  I  fear,  poor  soul !  if  I  may  judge  from 
myself,  that  her  lot  is  a  very  lamentable  one, 
wherever  it  may  be. 

After  all  that  sentimental  talkers  and  senti- 
mental writers  may  produce  upon  the  subject, 
marriage  must  be  considered  as  a  species  of 
traffick,  and  as  much  a  matter  of  commerce 
as  any  commodity  that  fills  the  ware-house  of 
the  merchant.  We  exchange  passion  for  pas- 
sion, beauty,  titles,  &x.  for  money,  youth  for 
age,  and  so  on.  The  business  may  some- 
times answer;  but  there  are  few  examples,  I 
fear,  when  the  profit  and  loss  come  to  be  stat- 
ed, where  the  balance  is  considerable  in  fa- 
vour of  the  former.  Who,  says  the  Spanish 
proverb,  has  ever  seen  a  marriage  without 
fraud,  if  beauty  be  a  part  of  the  portion  ?  This 
idea  will  hold  good  in  every  other  instance, 
and  corroborates  my  principle  of  its  being  a 
matter  of  trade,  which  has  its  foundation  in 
fraud  and  tricking.  One  marries  for  connex- 


75 

ions,  another  for  wealth,  a  third  from  lust,  a 
fourth  to  have  an  heir,  to  oblige  his  parents, 
and  so  on.  Every  one  of  your  married  friends 
will  come  under  these  or  similar  descriptions, 

except  Lord  C ,  who  married  his  Lady, 

as  he  buys  his  buckles,  because  she  was  the 
Ton  ;  and  I  doubt  not,  but  he  was  completely 
miserable,  that  he  could  not  change  her,  as 
he  does  his  buckles,  for  the  fashion  of  the  next 
spring,  or,  perhaps,  the  next  month. 

Plato  was  at  a  loss  under  what  class  to  rank 
women,  whether  among  brutes  or  rational 
creatures  :  Doctor  Watts's  ideas  are  far  more 
favourable  to  the  sex,  for  he  has  not  hesitat- 
ed to  give  them  celestial  natures.  I  must  ac- 
knowledge that  I  have  my  doubts  upon  the 
subject.  Mahometanism  has,  certainly,  some 
fine  points  about  it :  give  him  wine,  and  a 
Turk's  life  is  not  a  bad  one.  So  good  night 
to  you  ! 


76 


LETTER 


YOUR  string  of  modern  wits  is  not  worth 
a  beadsman's  rosary.    The  sera  of  wit  is  pass- 
e'd.     There  are  not  half  a  score  of  men  in  the 
kingdom  who  deserve  that  title  ;   and  the  ris- 
ing world  give  no  hopes  of  its  restoration. — 
The  tree  that  bears  such  fruit  is  blasted.    Do 
me  the  favour,  I  beseech  you,  to  distinguish 
between   a  man   of  wit,  and  one  who  makes 
you  laugh.     The  repetition  of  an  old  tale,  a 
grimace,  a  blunder,  the  act  of  laughter  in  an- 
other, or  even  a  serious  look,  may  cause  the 
muscular  convulsion ;  but  wit  is  not  levelled 
so  much  at  the  muscles  as  at  the  heart,  and 
the  latter  will  sometimes  smile  when  there  is 
not  a  single  wrinkle  upon  the  cheek.     How  it 
could  ever  enter  into  your  head  to  think  Chase 
Price  a  wit,  puzzles  and  perplexes  me.     He 
has  no  more  pretensions  to  it  than  he  has  to 
grace.    He  is  a  good-humoured,  jolly  buffoon, 
that  writes  a  bawdy  song,  and  sings  it ;  says 
things  that  nobody  but  himself  would  choose 
to  say ;  and  does  things  that  nobody  beside^ 


77 


would  choose  to  do.  Believe  me,  that  CJiase's 
forte  is  politicks  ;  not  publick,  but  private  pol- 
iticks ;  the  science  of  which  he  understands 
better,  and  practises  with  more  success,  than 
any  man  in  Great-Britain.  He  is  never  with- 
out a  point  in  view,  or  a  game  to  play ;  and 
he  never  sings  a  song,  or  tells  a  smutty  tale, 
without  some  design.  Mere  amusement  to 
himself  or  others  is  not  Mr.  Price's  plan :  his 
humour  has  been  a  good  fortune  to  him  ;  and 
he  will  contrive,  I  doubt  not,  to  make  it  last 
as  long  as  himself.  Do  you  think,  when 
Bolingbroke,  Swift,  ArbntJmot,  Pope,  &c.  &c. 
were  assembled  together,  that  the  conversa- 
tion of  such  a  bright  constellation  of  men  was 
like  the  ribaldry  of  Mr.  Price  ?  Their  wit  did 
not  consist  in  roaring  a  bawdy  catch,  &c.  it 
was  the  feast  of  reason,  and  the  flow  of  soul. 
The  flashes  of  imagination  adorned  and  gave 
brilliance  to  the  high  discourse  :  wisdom  was 
enlivened,  and  not  wounded,  by  their  wit ; 
and,  among  them,  the  herd  of  laughter-loving 
fools  would  not  haVe  found  a  single  grin  to 
console  them.  If  I  were  to  sing  one  of  Mr. 
Price's  ballads,  or  to  repeat  one  of  his  stories, 
you  would  receive,  I  fear,  but  little  pleasure 
from  the  exhibition,  because  I  could  not  give 
them  the  accompaniments  of  noise  and  grim- 


78 

ace,  which  form  their  principal  merit:  and, 
perhaps,  besides  my  deficiency  in  acting  my 
part,  I  might  produce  the  entertainment  an 
hour  too  soon.  But  wit  may  be  repeated  by 
any  one  at  any  time,  and,  I  believe,  in  almost 
any  language,  with  satisfaction  and  success : 
time  may  drown  it  in  oblivion,  but  cannot  al- 
ter its  nature :  as  long  as  it  is  remembered  it 
will  please — while  the  facetious  exhibitions  of 
a  boon  companion  will  scarce  survive  his  fu- 
neral. But  to  proceed  in  your  catalogue. 

Lord  C e's  wit,  as  well  as  that  of  his 

friend,  lies  in  his  heels,  and  is  so  powerfully 
exerted  in  producing  entre-chats,  as  to  be  lan- 
guid to  every  other  purpose.  A  few  school- 
boy rhymes  confer  not  the  laurel  of  wit ;  and 
it  was  a  great  proof  of  an  opposite  character 
in  this  Nobleman  to  give  his  compositions  to 
the  world.  He  may  understand  French  and 
Italian,  and,  perhaps,  speak  both  those  lan- 
guages tolerably  well;  it  is  probable,  also, 
that  he  may  not  have  forgot  every  thing  he 
learned  at  school :  but  indeed,  indeed,  my 
friend,  he  is  no  wit. 

Charles  Fox  is  highly  gifted  ;  his  talents  are 
of  a  very  superiour  nature  :  and,  in  my  opin- 
ion, Fitzpatrick  is  scarcely  behind  him.  In 
the  article  of  colloquial  merit,  he  is,  at  least. 


his  equal :  but  they  neither  of  them  possess 
that  Attick  character,  which,  while  it  corrects, 
gives  strength  to  imagination,  and,  while  it 
governs,  gives  dignity  to  wit.  The  late  Earl 
of  Bath  and  Mr.  Charles  Towns/lend  were 
blessed  with  no  inconsiderable  share  of  it ; 
and  it  is  an  intemperate  vivacity  of  genius 
which  confounds  it  in  Mr.  Edmund  Burke. — 
But  the  man  who  is  in  the  most  perfect  pos- 
session of  it,  has  figured  in  so  high  a  line  of 
publick  life,  as  to  prevent  the  attention  of  man- 
kind from  leaving  his  greater  qualities  to  con- 
sider his  private  and  domestick  character :  I 
mean  Lord  Chatham^  whose  familiar  conver- 
sation is  only  to  be  excelled  by  his  publick  el- 
oquence. Perhaps  Lord  Mansfield  was  born, 
if  I  may  use  the  expression,  with  every  At- 
tick disposition ;  but  the  shackles  of  a  law- 
education  and  profession,  and  some  other  cir- 
cumstances which  I  need  not  mention,  have 
formalized,  and,  in  some  degree,  repressed 
the  brilliance  of  his  genius.  With  respect  to 
this  great  man,  I  cannot  but  pathetically  apos- 
trophize with  Pope, 

"  How  sweet  an  Ovid  -was  in  Murray  lost !" 

George  Seluyn  is  very  superiour  to  Chase 
Price,  but  very  inferiour  to  Charles   Toivns- 
against  whom,  however,  he  used,  as  I 


am  told,  continually  to  get  the  laugh  :  but  this 
proves  nothing;  for  good-humoured  George 
Bodens  would  have  gained  the  prize  from  them 
both  in  the  article  of  creating  laughter.  I  may 
be  wrong,  perhaps,  but  it  has  ever  appeared 
to  me,  that  Mr.  Selwyti's  faculty  of  repartee  is 
mechanical,  and  arises  more  from  habit  than 
from  genius.  It  would  be  a  miserable  busi- 
ness indeed,  if  a  man,  who  had  been  playing 
upon  words  for  so  many  years,  should  not 
have  attained  the  faculty  of  commanding  them 
at  his  pleasure. 

B converses  with  elegance  ;  L n 

is  an  excellent  critick  ;  and  many  others  of  the 
same  class  may  be  found,  who  are  well  qual- 
ified to  be  members  of  a  literary  club,  but  no 
farther.  Garrick  is  himself  upon  the  stage, 
and  an  actor  every  where  else.  Foote  is  a 
mimick  every  where  ;  excellent,  delightful,  on 
the  theatre  and  in  private  society ;  but  still  a 
mimick.  No  one  can  take  more  pains  than 

Mrs.  M to  be  surrounded  with  men 

of  wit ;  she  bribes,  she  pensions,  she  flatters, 
gives  excellent  dinners,  is  herself  a  very  sens- 
ible woman,  and  of  very  pleasing  manners  ; 
not  young,  indeed,  but  that  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion :  and,  in  spite  of  all  these  encourage- 
ments, which,  one  would  think,  might  make 


81 

wits  spring  out  of  the  ground,  the  conversa- 
tions of  her  house  are  too  often  critical  and 
pedaritick,  something  between  the  dulness  and 
the  pertness  of  learning.     They  are  perfectly 
chaste,  and  generally  instructive  ;  but  a  cool 
and  quiet  observer  would  sometimes  laUgh  to 
see  how  difficult  a  matter  it  is  for  la  belle  Pres- 
idente  to  give  colour  and  life  to  her  literary  cir- 
cles.    It  surprises  me  that  you  should  leave 
TFmdham  out  of  your  list,  who  (observe  my 
prophecy)  will  become  one  of  the  ablest  men 
and  shining  characters  that  the  latter  part  of 
this  age  will  produce.     I  hazard  little  in  such 
a  presentiment ;  for  his  talents,   judgment,  and 
attainments  will  verify  it. 

The  gibes  and  jests,  that  are  wont  to  set  the 
table  in  a  roar,  promote  the  chearful  purposes 
of  convivial  society,  but  they  have  nothing  to 
do  with  that  Attick  conversation  which  is  the 
highest  enjoyment  of  the  human  intellect. — 
Wit,  believe  me,  is  almost  extinct ;  and  I  will 
tell  you,  among  other  reasons,  why  I  think 
so :  because  no  one  seems  to  have  any  idea 
of  what  wit  is,  or  who  deserves  the  title  of  it. 
To  think  little,  talk  of  every  thing,  and  doubt 
of  nothing ;  to  use  only  the  external  parts  of 
the  soul,  and  cultivate  the  surface,  as  it  were, 
of  the  judgment ;  to  be  happy  in  expression,  to 


82 

have  an  agreeable  fancy,  an  easy  and  refined 
conversation,  and  to  be  able  to  please,  without 
acquiring  esteem ;  to  be  born  with  the  equiv- 
ocal talent  of  a  ready  apprehension,  and,  on 
that  account,  to  think  one's  self  above  reflec- 
tion ;  to  fly  from  object  to  object,  without  gain- 
ing a  perfect  knowledge  of  any ;  to  gather 
hastily  all  the  flowers,  and  never  allow  the 
fruit  time  to  arrive  at  maturity :  all  these,  col- 
lected together,  form  a  faint  picture  of  what 
the  generality  of  people,  in  this  age,  are  pleas- 
ed to  honour  with  the  name  of  wit. 

You  must  not  be  angry  with  me  for  this 
long  letter,  but  rather  be  thankful  that  it  is  so 
short,  considering  the  subject  you  threw  be- 
fore me,  and  the  desire  I  have  to  set  you  a 
thinking  on  a  subject  of  which  you  seem  to 
have  formed  very  wrong  notions.  I  again  re- 
peat, that  true  wit  is  expiring,  and  great  tal- 
ents also.  My  words  are  prophetick,  and  a 
few  years  will  determine  the  matter.  It  would 
not  be  a  difficulty  to  prove  the  why  and  the 
wherefore ;  but  of  all  subjects  these  half-met- 
aphysical ones  are  the  most  unpleasant  to 

Your's,  &c. 


83 


LETTER  XIX. 


MY  DEAR , 

WITHOUT  any  violent  exertions  of  my 
natural  vanity,  I  can  easily  imagine  that  the 
eye  of  mankind  looks  towards  my  political  ca- 
reer; vand  that,  for  want  of  a  better  subject, 
there  may  be  some  among  them  who  amuse 
themselves  with  forming  conjectures  concern- 
Ing  it.  The  ministry  have  attempted  to  feel 
my  pulse  upon  the  occasion,  but  without  suc- 
cess ;  though  I  will  tell  you  in  confidence,  that 
they  have  nothing,  at  present,  to  fear  from 
me.  In  the  great  subject  of  this  day's  poli- 
ticks, which  seems  to  engulph  every  other,  I 
am  with  them.  I  shall  never  cease  to  con- 
tend for  the  universality  and  unity  of  the  Brit- 
ish Empire  over  all  its  territories  and  depend- 
encies, in  every  part  of  the  globe.  I  have  not 
a  doubt  of  the  legislative  supremacy  of  Par- 
liament over  every  part  of  the  British  domin- 
ions in  America,  the  East  and  JFest-Indies,  in 
Africa,  and  over  Ireland  itself. 


84 

I  cannot  separate  the  ideas  of  legislation 
and  taxation ;    they  seem  to  be    more    than 
twins ;  they  were  not  only  born  but  must  co- 
exist and  die  together.     The  question  of  right 
is  heard  of  no  more  ;  it  is  now  become  a  ques- 
tion of  power,  and  it  appears  to  me  that  the 
sword  will  determine  the  contest.     The  Colo- 
nies pretend  to  be  subject  to  the  King  alone ; 
they    deny    subordination  to   the    state,   and, 
upon  this  principle,  have   not  only  declared 
against  the  authority  of  Parliament,  but  erect- 
ed a  government  of  their  own,  independent  of 
British   legislation.      To   support  a  disobedi- 
ence to  rights  which  they  once  acknowledg- 
ed,   they   have   already   formed    associations, 
armed  and  arrayed  themselves,  and   are  pre- 
paring to  bring  the   question  to  the   issue  of 
battle.     This  being  the  case,  it  becomes  high- 
ly necessary  for  us  to  arm  also  ;  we  must  pre- 
pare to  quench  the  evil  in  its  infancy,  and  to 
extinguish  a  flame  which  the  natural  enemies, 
of  England  will  not  fail  to  feed  with  unremit- 
ting fuel,  in  order  to  consume  our  commerce 
and  tarnish  our  glory.     If  wise  measures  are 
taken,  this  business  will  be  soon  completed, 
to  the  honour  of  the  mother-country  and  the. 
welfare  of  the  Colonies,  who,  in  spite  of  all 
the  assistance   given  them  by  the  House  of 


85 

must-,  tmless  our   government  acts 
like  an  idiot,  be  forced  to  submission. 

For  my  own  part,  I  have  not  that  high  opin- 
ion of  their  Roman  spirit,  as  to  suppose  that 
it  will  influence  them  contentedly  to  submit  to 
all  the  horrours  of  war,  or  to  resign  every  com- 
fort in  which  they  have  been  bred,  to  relin- 
quish every  hope  with  which  they  have  been 
flattered,  and  retire  to  the  howling  wilderness 
for  an  habitation ;  and  all  for  a  dream  of  lib- 
erty, which,  were  they  to  possess  to-morrow, 
would  not  give  them  a  privilege  superiour  to 
those  which  they  lately  enjoyed,  and  might, 
I  fear,  deprive  them  of  many  which  they  ex- 
perienced beneath  the  clement  legislation  of 
the  British  government. 

I  do  not  mean  to  enter  at  large  into  the  sub- 
ject ;  but,  if  ministers  know  what  they  are  a- 
bout,  the  matter  may  be  soon  decided  :  and  in 
every  measure  which  tends  to  promote  such 
a  desirable  end,  they  shall  receive  all  the  poor 
helps  I  can  give  them — I  will  neither  sit  silent, 
nor  remain  inactive.  But  if,  by  neglect,  igno- 
rance, or  an  indecisive  spirit  (the  latter  of 
which  I  rather  suspect  from  them)  they  should 
let  the  monster  grow  up  into  size  and  strength, 
my  support  shall  be  changed  into  opposition, 
and  all  my  powers  exerted  to  remove  men 


86 

from  a  station,  to  which  they  are  unequal. — 
Remember  this  assertion — preserve  this  letter 
— and  let  it  appear  in  judgment  against  me,  if 
I  err  from  my  present  declaration. 

I  remain  your's,  &c. 


87 


LETTER  XX. 


IT  was  very  natural,  in  such  a  Strephon 
as  you  are,  to  imagine  that  I  had  hurried  away 
to  court  the  nymphs;  I  mean  the  wood-nymphs 

of  H .      Now,  I  have  so  little  thought 

about,  or  regard  for,  these  ladies,  that  I  had, 
at  one  time,  determined  to  despoil  their  shade, 
and  make  a  profitable  use  of  the  oaks  which 
shelter  them.  You  will  shriek  at  the  idea, 
like  any  Hamadryad ;  but  in  spite  of  shrieks 
or  intreaties,  I  had  it  in  contemplation  to  be 

patriotick,  and  give  the  groves  of  H to 

the  service  of  my  country. 

The  system  of  modern  gardening,  in  spite 
of  fashion  and  Mr.  Brown,  is  a  very  foolish 
one.  The  huddling  together  every  species  of 
building  into  a  park  or  garden,  is  ridiculous. 
The  environs  of  a  magnificent  house  should 
partake,  in  some  degree,  of  the  necessary 
formality  of  the  building  they  surround. — 
This  was  Kent's  opinion ;  and,  where  his  de- 
si  gas  have  escaped  the  destruction  of  modern 


88 

refinement,  there  is  an  easy  grandeur  which 
is  at  once  striking  and  delightful.  Fine  woods 
are  beautiful  objects,  and  their  beauty  ap- 
proaches nearer  to  magnificence,  as  the  mass 
of  foliage  becomes  more  visible ;  but  to  dot 
them  with  little  white  edifices,  infringes  upon 
their  greatness,  and,  by  such  divisions  and 
subdivisions^  destroys  their  due  effect.  The 
verdure  of  British  swells  was-  not  made  for 
Grecian  temples  :  a  flock  of  sheep  and  a  shep- 
herd's hut  are  better  adapted  to  it.  Our  cli- 
mate is  not  suited  to  the  deities  of  Italy  and 
Greece,  and  in  a  hard  winter  I  feel  for  the 
shuddering  divinities.  At  H —  • — -  there  is  a 
Temple  of  Theseus,  commonly  called  by  the 
gardener  the  Temple  of  Perseus,  which  stares 
you  in  the  face  wherever  you  go ;  while  the 
Temple  of  God,  commonly  called  by  the  gar- 
dener the  Parish  Church,  is  so  industriously 
hid  by  trees  from  without,  that  the  pious  mat- 
ron can  hardly  read  her  prayer-book  within. 
This  was  an  evident  preference  of  strange 
gods,  and,  in  my  opinion,  a  very  blasphem- 
ous improvement.  Where  Nature  is  grand, 
improve  her  grandeur,  not  by  adding  extrane- 
ous decorations,  but  by  removing  obstruc- 
tions. Where  a  scene  is  in  itself  lovely,  very 
little  is  necessary  to  give  it  all  due  advantage, 


89 

especially  if 'it  be  laid  into  park,  which  under- 
goes no  variety  of  cultivation. 

Stow  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  most  detestable 
place  ;  and  has  in  every  part  of  it  the  air  of  a 
Golgotha:  a  princely  one  -I  must  acknow- 
ledge ;  but  in  no  part  of  it  could  I  ever  lose 
that  gloomy  idea.  My  own  park  possesses 
many  and  very  rare  beauties ;  but,  from  the 
design  of  making  it  classical,  it  has  been 
charged  with  many  false  and  unsuitable  orna- 
ments. A  classical  park,  or  a  classical  gar- 
den, is  as  ridiculous  an  expression  as  a  clas- 
sical plumb-pudding  or  a  classical  surloin  of 
beef.  It  is  an  unworthy  action  to  strip  the 
classicks  of  their  heroes,  gods,  and  goddess- 
es, to  grow  green  amid  the  fogs  of  our  un- 
classical  climate.  But  the  affectation  and  non- 
sense of  little  minds  is  beyond  description. — 
How  many  are  there,  who,  fearful  that  man- 
kind will  not  discover  their  knowledge,  are 
continually  hanging  out  the  sign  of  hard  words 
and  pedantick  expressions,  like  the  late  Lord 
Orrery,  who,  for  some  classical  reason,  had 
given  his  dog  a  classical  name ;  it  was  no  less 
than  Cfesar  !  However,  Ctesar,  one  day,  giv- 
ing his  Lordship  a  most  unclassical  bite,  he 
seized  a  cane,  and  pursued  him  round  the 
room  with  great  solemnity  and  this  truly  clas- 

M 


90 

sical  menace—"  C<ssar !  C<esar !  if  I  could 
"  catch  thee,  Cxsar  !  I  would  give  thee  as  ma- 
"  ny  wounds  as  JBmtus  gave  thy  name-sake  in 
"  the  Capitol."  This  is  the  very  froth  of  fol- 
ly and  affectation. 

Adieu,  &c. 


91 


... 

LETTER  XXL 


MY  DEAR   SIR, 

I  OBEY  your  commands  with  some  reluc- 
tance, in  relating  the  story  of  which  you  have 
heard  so  much,  and  to  which  your  curiosity 
appears  to  be  so  broad  awake.  I  do  it  unwil- 
lingly, because  such  histories  depend  so  much 
upon  the  manner  in  which  they  are  related ; 
and  this,  which  I  have  told  with  such  success, 
and  to  the  midnight  terrours  of  so  many  sim- 
ple souls,  will  make  but  a  sorry  figure  in  a 
written  narration.  However,  you  shall  have  it. 

It  was  in  the  early  part  of 's  life 

that  he  attended  an  hunting  club  at  their 
sport,  when  a  stranger,  of  a  genteel  appear- 
ance, and  well  mounted,  joined  the  chace, 
and  was  observed  to  ride  with  a  degree  of 
courage  and  address  that  called  forth  the  ut- 
most astonishment  of  every  one  present.  The 
beast  he  rode  was  of  amazing  powers ;  no- 
thing stopped  them ;  the  hounds  could  never 
escape  them ;  and  the  huntsman,  who  was 


92 

left  far  behind,  swore  that  the  man  and  his 
horse  were  both  devils  from  hell.  When  the 
sport  was  over,  the  company  invited  this  extra- 
ordinary person  to  dinner :  he  accepted  the  in- 
vitation, and  astonished  the  company  as  much 
by  the  powers  of  his  conversation  and  the 
elegance  of  his  manners,  as  by  his  equestrian 
prowess.  He  was  an  orator,  a  poet,  a  paint- 
er, a  musician,  a  lawyer,  a  divine  ;  in  short, 
he  was  every  thing,  and  the  magick  of  his 
discourse  kept  the  drowsy  sportsmen  awake 
long  after  their  usual  hour.  At  length,  how- 
ever, wearied  nature  could  be  charmed  no 
more ;  and  the  company  began  to  steal  away 
by  degrees  to  their  repose.  On  his  observ- 
ing the  society  diminish,  he  discovered  mani- 
fest signs  of  uneasiness :  he  therefore  gave 
new  force  to  his  spirits,  and  new  charms  to 
his  conversation,  in  order  to  detain  the  remain- 
ing few  some  time  longer.  This  had  some  lit- 
tle effect ;  but  the  period  could  not  be  long 
delayed  when  he  wTas  to  be  conducted  to  his 
chamber.  The  remains  of  the  company  re- 
tired also  ;  but  they  had  scarce  closed  their 
eyes,  when  the  house  was  alarmed  by  the  most 
terrible  shrieks  that  were  ever  heard  :  several 
persons  were  awakened  by  the  noise  ;  but,  its 
continuance  being  short,  they  concluded  it  to 


93 

proceed  from  a  dog  who  might  be  accidentally 
confined  in  some  part  of  the  house  :  they  very 
soon,  therefore,  composed  themselves  to  sleep, 
and  were  very  soon  awakened  by  shrieks  and 
cries  of  still  greater  terrour  than  the  former. 
Alarmed  at  what  they  heard,  several  of  them 
rung  their  bells,  and,  when  the  servants  came, 
they  declared  that  the  horrid  sounds  proceed- 
ed from  the  stranger's  chamber.  Some  of  the 
gentlemen  immediately  arose,  to  enquire  in- 
to this  extraordinary  disturbance  ;  and,  while 
they  were  dressing  themselves  for  that  pur- 
pose, deeper  groans  of  despair,  and  shriller 
shrieks  of  agony,  again  astonished  and  terri- 
fied them.  After  knocking  some  time  at  the 
stranger's  chamber-door,  he  answered  them 
as  one  awakened  from  sleep,  declared  he  had 
heard  no  noise,  and,  rather  in  an  angry  tone, 
desired  he  might  not  be  again  disturbed.  Up- 
on this  they  returned  to  one  of  their  chambers, 
and  had  scarce  begun  to  communicate  their 
sentiments  to  each  other,  when  their  conver- 
sation was  interrupted  by  a  renewal  of  yells, 
screams,  and  shrieks,  which,  from  the  hor- 
rour  of  them,  seemed  to  issue  from  the  throats 
of  damned  and  tortured  spirits.  They  imme- 
diately followed  the  sounds,  and  traced  them 
to  the  stranger's  chamber,  the  door  of  which 


94 

they  instantly  burst  open,  and  found  him  upon 
his  knees  in  bed,  in  the  act  of  scourging  him- 
self with  the  most  unrelenting  severity,  his 
body  streaming  with  blood.     On  their  seizing 
his  hand  to  stop  the  strokes,  he  begged  them, 
in  the  most  wringing  tone  of  voice,  as  an  act 
of  mercy,    that  they  would  retire,    assuring 
them  that  the  cause  of  their  disturbance  was 
over,  and  that  in  the  morning  he  would  ac- 
quaint them  with  the  reasons  of  the  terrible 
cries  they  had  heard,  and  the  melancholy  sight 
they  saw.    After  a  repetition  of  his  entreaties, 
they  retired ;  and  in  the  morning  some  of  them 
went  to  his  chamber,  but  he  was  not  there  ; 
and,  on  examining  the  bed,  they  found  it  to 
be  one  gore  of  blood.     Upon  further  inquiry, 
the  groom  said,  that,  as  soon  as  it  was  light, 
the  gentleman  came  to  the  stable  booted  and 
spurred,  desired  his  horse  might  be  immedi- 
ately saddled,  and  appeared  to  be  extremely 
impatient  till  it  was  done  ;  when  he  vaulted  in- 
stantly into  his  saddle,  and  rode  out  of  the 
yard  on  full  speed. — Servants  were  immedi- 
ately dispatched  into  every  part  of  the  sur- 
rounding country,  but  not  a   single  trace  of 
him  could  be  found :   such  a  person  had  not 
been  seen  by  any  one,  nor  has  he  since  been 
heard  of. 


The  circumstances  of  this  strange  story 
xvere  immediately  committed  to  writing,  and 
signed  by  every  one  who  were  witnesses  to 
them,  that  the  future  credibility  of  any  one, 
who  should  think  proper  to  relate  them,  might 
be  duly  supported.  Among  the  subscribers 
to  the  truth  of  this  history  are  some  of  the  first 

names  of  this  century. — It  would  now,  I  be- 
lieve, be  impertinent  to  add  any  thing  more, 

than  that  I  am, 

Your's, 


96 


LETTER  XXIL 


I  THANK  you  most  sincerely,  my  very 
dear  friend,  for  your  obliging  congratulations 
on  my  late  promotion ;  and  I  have  no  better 
way  to  answer  the  friendly  counsels  which  ac- 
company them,  but  by  opening  my  heart  to 
you  upon  the  occasion,  and  trusting  its  senti- 
ments with  you. 

You  knew  my  father,  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  applaud  me  in  declaring  that  his  charac- 
ter did  real  honour  to  his  rank  and  his  nature. 
A  grateful  fame  will  wait  upon  his  memory, 
till,  by  some  new  change  in  human  affairs,  the 
great  and  good  men  of  this  country  and  period 
shall  be  lost  to  the  knowledge  of  distant  gene- 
rations. In  the  republick  of  letters  he  rose  to 
a  very  considerable  eminence  ;  his  deep  polit- 
ical erudition  is  universally  acknowledged  ; 
and,  as  a  senator  both  of  the  lower  and  high- 
er order,  his  name  is  honoured  with  distin- 
guished veneration.  In  his  private  as  well  as 
publick  life,  he  was  connected  and  in  friend- 


97 

ship  with  the  first  men  of  the  time  in  which 
he  lived ;  and,  as  a  character  of  strict  virtue 
and  true  piety,  he  has  been  universally  held 
forth  as  the  most  striking  example  of  this  age. 
The  idea  of  uncommon  merit  accompanies  all 
opinion  of  him  ;  and  to  mention  his  name  is  to 
awaken  the  most  pleasing  and  amiable  senti- 
ments. As  you  read  this  short  and  imperfect 
outline  of  his  character,  fill  it  up  and  do  it 
justice.  Now,  it  will,  perhaps,  surprise  you, 
when  you  are  informed,  that  the  post  in  gov- 
ernment which  this  great  and  good  man  most 
desired,  and  could  never  obtain,  was  the  Chief 
Justiceship  in  Eyre,  &c.  &c.  The  reverse  of 
the  picture  is  as  follows  :  that  your  humble 
servant,  and  his  gracious  son,  whose  charac- 
ter you  perfectly  know,  has  been  appointed  to 
this  very  post,  in  the  infancy  of  his  peerage, 
without  any  previous  service  performed,  hint 
given,  or  requisition  made  on  his  part,  and 
without  the  proposition  of,  and  conditions  on 
the  part  of,  the  Minister.  When  I  was  sur- 
prised by  the  offer,  I  was  surprised  also  by  a 
sudden  and  unusual  suffusion  on  my  cheeks* 
at  the  contrast  of  mine  and  my  father's  char- 
acter— of  mine  and  my  father's  lot.  Indeed 
so  big  was  my  heart  on  the  occasion,  tha  , 
when  the  ministerial  ambassadour  had  left  rcf 

N 


the  sentiments  of  it  burst  forth  upon  the  first 
person  I  saw,  who  happened  not  to  be  a  very 
proper  receptacle  for  the  reflections  of  virtue. 
There  is  a  very  great  encouragement  in  this 
world  to  be  wicked,  and  the  Devil  certainly 
goes  about  in  more  pleasing  shapes  than  that 
of  a  roaring  lion.  In  the  name  of  fortune,  my 
dear  friend,  how  and  why  are  these  things  ? 
Is  it  the  increasing  corruption  of  the  times, 
or  the  weakness  of  government,  that  gives  to 
dissolute  men  the  meed  of  virtue  ;  or  do  min- 
isters think  it  expedient  to  give  a  sop  to  the 
mastiff  whose  growl  might  make  them  trem- 
ble ?  You,  who  have  made  men  and  manners 
your  study,  who  have  looked  so  deeply  into 
the  volume  of  the  heart,  and  have  acquired 
such  an  happy  art  of  reconciling  the  apparent 
inconsistencies  of  human  affairs,  must  instruct 
me.  I  wish  you  could  improve  and  convert 
me  !  I  am  not  insensible  to  what  is  good ;  nay, 
there  are  moments  when  the  full  lustre  of  vir- 
tue beams  upon  me.  I  try  to  seize  it ;  but  the 
gleam  escapes  me,  and  I  am  re -involved  in 
darkness.  The  conflict  of  reason  and  passion 
is  but  the  conflict  of  a  moment ;  and  the  latter 
never  fails  to  bear  me  oft"  in  triumph. 

Video  mciiora  proboque, 

Detcriora  sequor. 

I  am  your's  most  truly,  &c. 


LETTER  XXIIL 


I  WISH  the  Morning  Post,  and  every 
other  Post  that  scatters  such  malignant,  false, 
and  detestable  histories,  in  the  bottomless  pit, 
with  its  writers,  printers,  editors,  publishers, 
collectors,  and  purchasers.  To  be  the  sub- 
ject of  an  occasional  paragraph  is  not  worth  a 
frown.  It  is  a  tax  which  every  one  in  high 
station  must  pay,  be  he  good,  or  be  he  bad, 
to  that  demon  of  calumny,  who  now  has  a 
temple  prepared  for  his  service  at  every  break- 
fast-table in  the  metropolis.  But  to  be  the  sole 
theme  of  a  scandalous  chronicle,  and  to  see  it 
not  only  saved  from  oblivion,  but  raised  into 
universal  notice  and  reception,  from  its  abu- 
sive histories  of  me,  is  a  circumstance  big  with 
every  pain  and  penalty  of  mortification.  To 
add  to  my  distress,  no  means  of  satisfaction  or 
revenge  are  in  my  power;  and,  if  resentment 
were  to  weave  a  scourge,  and  I  could  use  it 
to  my  wishes,  I  should  only  give  new  materi- 
als to  prolong  the  tale.  The  business  of  silent 


100 

contempt  is  above  me ;  and  the  mode  of  con- 
duct you  recommend  is  like  St.  Austin  s  reason 
for  belief,  quid  impossibile  est.  I  cannot  enter 
an  house  where  the  page  of  my  dishonour  does 
not  lie  upon  the  table.  Every  man  who  meets 
me  in  the  street,  tells  me  by  his  very  looks 
that  he  has  read  it.  I  have  overheard  my 
own  servants  observing  upon  it,  and  the  very 
chairmen  can  repeat  its  tales.  I  expect  every 
day  that  my  horse,  like  Balaam's  ass,  will 
neigh  scandal  at  me ;  not  indeed  from  celes- 
tial, but  hellish  intervention. 

Some  steps,  however,  must  be  taken,  and 
some  method  adopted  to  silence  the  cry.  To 
bribe  the  hounds,  would  produce  a  mortifica- 
tion almost  equal  to  what  I  now  suffer;  but 
there  is  no  divining  how  long  the  story  may 
last,  and  the  tota  cantabltur  urbe  is  terrible. — 
Bear  it  I  cannot,  and  revenge  is  not  in  my 
power.  The  rascal  keeps  within  the  circle  of 
privilege ;  and,  if  he  should  slip  out  of  it,  I 
am  afraid  that  it  would  not  answer  my  pur- 
pose to  avail  myself  of  his  incaution.  In 
short,  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  You  will 
oblige  me  more  than  ever,  in  forming  some 
wise  resolutions  for  me,  and  in  persuading 
me  to  execute  them. — Adieu  ! 


101 


LETTER 


MY  DEAR   FRIEND, 

YOUR  sensibility  towards  me  during  my 
late  persecution,  is  a  flattering  mark  of  that  af- 
fectionate esteem  which  you  have  ever  borne 
me.  I  most  sincerely  thank  you  for  it ;  and 
have  only  to  wish  that  the  world  knew  I  still 
retain  so  warm  a  place  in  your  heart.  Such  a 
circumstance  would  serve  as  an  antidote  a- 
gainst  the  poison  which  has  been  instilled  in- 
to the  minds  of  mankind  on  my  subject.  The 
batteries  of  scandal  are  at  length  turned  from 
me;  and  some  new  object  of  their  rage  will, 
I  hope,  make  their  thundering  attack  upon  me 
to  be  quickly  forgotten. 

I  love  my  country,  its  constitution,  and  its 
privileges,  too  well  to  say,  write,  or  even 
think,  any  thing  against  that  palladium  of 
British  freedom,  the  liberty  of  the  press, 
though  I  have  been  such  a  sufferer  by  it. — • 
While  it  remains,  (and  may  it  ever  remain !) 
the  people  of  England  will  have  a  security 
for  those  privileges  which  give  them  a  supe- 


102 

riority  over  every  other  nation.  Perhaps  the 
enormities  of  private  scandal  should  be  check- 
ed, at  the  same  time  that,  I  think,  it  would  be 
dangerous  to  suffer  even  an  excrescence  of 
any  staple  privilege  to  be  cut  off.  The  track 
of  innovation  widens  every  moment;  and  on 
this  example,  if  it  was  once  opened,  there  is 
no  saying  where  it  would  end. 

A  priest,  I  think,  is  said  to  have  invented 
gun-powder;  and  a  soldier  has  the  credit  of 
first  suggesting  Tlie  Art  of  Printing:  and  I 
have  heard  wonderfully  curious  and  profound 
observations  made  upon  the  strange  combina- 
tion of  the  inventors  and  their  inventions. — 
But,  surely,  it  does  not  require  a  moment's 
reflection  to  discover,  that  this  improvement 
in  the  business  of  war,  as  well  as  in  the  re- 
publick.of  letters,  could  not  have  proceeded 
so  naturally  from  any  other  -characters.  It  is, 
I  believe,  universally  allowed,  that,  since  the 
introduction  of  artillery  and  fire-arms,  the 
trade  of  war  is  become  comparatively  inno- 
cent: slaughter  no  longer  wades  knee-deep 
in  blood;  and  her  sword  is  now  no  sooner 
drawn  than  it  is  satisfied.  A  discovery,  there- 
fore, which  has  lessened  the  carnage  and  hor- 
rours  of  battle,  was  most  naturally  produced 
by  a  minister  of  the  gospel  of  peace.  On  the 


103 

contrary,  we  have  only  to  examine  the  history 
of  letters  since  the  invention  of  printing,  and 
lo !  what  an  host  of  polemical  writers  appear, 
armed  with  the  most  bitter  spirit  of  malice 
and  resentment !  <  What  feuds,  both  national 
and  domestick,  have  arisen  from  it!  What 
rage  has  been  inflamed !  How  many  wars 
have  been  engendered !  What  disgraceful, 
inflammatory,  and  unchristian  controversies 
maintained !  How  many  scandals  of  every 
kind  have  been  propagated,  and  what  pas- 
sions have  been  incited  by  it !  &c.  &c.  so  that 
the  most  free  governments  have  been  obliged 
to  enact  laws  to  restrain  and  controul  it.  Such 
an  invention,  therefore,  may  be  said  to  pro- 
ceed, in  its  natural  course,  from  one  whose 
profession  is  founded  in  the  animosities,  in- 
justice, and  malevolence  of  mankind.  I  doubt 
not  but  you  will  now  agree  with  me,  that  the 
world  is,  as  it  ought  to  be,  more  indebted  to 
the  priest  than  the  soldier.  You  will  tell  me, 
perhaps,  that  this  argument  arises  from  the 
smarting  of  my  wounds,  which  are  not  yet 
skinned  over :  I  feel  myself  of  a  contrary  opin- 
ion ;  but  I  will  quit  the  subject  till  not  a  scar 
remains,  when  I  shall  take  the  opportunity  of 
some  tranquil  hour  to  bring  the  matter,  by 
your  leave,  into  debate  with  you. 

I  remain,  with  great  regard,  Jkc. 


104 


LETTER 


MY  DEAR , 

I  MUST  acknowledge,  notwithstanding 
I  am  treated  with  some  degree  of  civility  in  it, 
that  the  dedication  you  mention  is  a  wretched 
business,  and  disgraces  the  volume  to  which 
it  is  prefixed.  You  wonder  I  did  not  write  a 
better  for  him  myself;  and  I  would,  most  as- 
suredly, have  done  it,  but,  among  many  ex- 
cellent qualities  which  this  dedicator  possess- 
es, he  is  a  blab  of  the  first  deliver)-,  and  I 
dared  not  venture  to  trust  him. 

The  testamentary  arrangement  which  ap- 
pointed him  to  the  honourable  labours  of  an 
editor,  took  its  rise  from  three  motives  :  first, 
to  mark  a  degree  of  parental  resentment  a- 
gainst  an  ungracious  son  ;  secondly,  from  an 
opinion  that  a  gracious  nephew's  well-timed 
flatteries  had  created  of  his  own  understand- 
ing; and,  thirdly,  from  a  design  of  bestow- 
ing upon  this  self-same  gracious  nephew  a  le- 
gacy of  honour  from  the  publication,  and  of 


profit  from  the  sale  of  the  volume.  He  is  ai 
proud  of  the  business  as  a  new-made  knight 
of  his  title,  is  never  easy  but  when  he  is  re- 
ceiving incense  from  book-sellers  and  their 
journeymen,  and  loves  to  be  pointed  at  as  a 
child  of  science.  I  wish  he  may  be  content- 
ed with  his  present  celebrity;  though,  if  I 
know  him  aright,  this  editorial  business  will 
awaken  ideas  of  his  having  talents  for  a  supe- 
riour  character,  and  that  he  is  qualified  to 
publish  his  own  works  with  as  much  eclat  as 
he  has  done  those  of  another.  If  he  attempts 
io  climb  the  ladder  of  ambition  in  any,  but 
particularly  in  a  literary  way,  he  must  fall. 
I  have  counselled  him  to  be  content ;  and  the 
booby  gives  it  out  that  I  am  envious  of  his 
reputation.  Poor,  silly  fool !  I  only  wish  the 
daw  may  keep  the  one  poor  feather  he  has 
got ;  for,  if  he  attempts  any  addition  to  his 
plumage,  the  vanity  will  draw  him  into  a 
scrape,  in  which  he  will  be  stripped  as  bare 
as  nature  made  him. 

But,  to  change  my  subject  to  a  coxcomb  of 

another  sex  :    Mrs. has   done   what 

she  has  no  right  to  do,  and  has  said  what  she 
is  not  authorised  to  say.  It  is  not  in  the  pow- 
er, even  of  so  able  and  so  respectable  an  ad- 
vocate as  yourself,  to  work  up  any  thing  that 

o 


106 

has  the-  semblance  of  a  satisfactory  justifica- 
tion. Your  arguments,  which  are  so  power- 
ful in  the  cause  of  truth,  are  the  slightest  of 
all  cobwebs  in  support,  or,  I  should  rather 
say,  in  palliation  of  falsehood.  This,  among 
other  things,  is  much  to  your  honour,  and  I 
congratulate  your  disqualification  to  plead  a 
bad  cause.  If  you  have  been  a  volunteer  on 
the  occasion,  I  compliment  your  gallantry : 
if  you  have  been  influenced  by  the  lady's  re- 
quest, I  admire  your  ready  friendship.  You 
have  every  merit  with  me ;  and,  to  give  you 
the  satisfaction  you  so  well  deserve,  I  cannot 
but  authorise  you  to  set  the  dame  at  rest,  and 
to  hush  her  every  fear.  This  is  no  small  sac- 
rifice ;  for  I  have  the  most  ample  means  of 
vengeance  in  my  hands  :  and,  if  it  will  ad- 
vance your  interests  at  her  court,  you  have 
full  permission  to  declare  that  my  wrath  has 
been  averted  by  your  interposition. 


-Nullum  memorabile  nom*n 


FfiEmincl  in  pcen4  est,  nee  habet  victoria  laudem. 

I  remain,  very  truly,  &c. 


107 


LETTER  XXVI. 


YOU  have  won  both  your  wagers. — In 
speaking  of  the  inhabitants  of  China,  I  ds 
make  use  of  the  word  Chineses  ;  and  I  borrow 
the  term  from  Milton*  As  to  your  -first  bet, 
that  I  used  such  an  expression,  your  ears,  1 
trust,  will  be  grateful  for  the.  confidence  you 
had  in  them.  But  your  second  wager,  that, 
if  I  did  use  it,  I  had  a  good  authority,  is  very 
flattering  to  myself;  and  I  thank  you  for  the 
opinion  you  entertain  of  the  accuracy^  of  my 
language.  My  memory  will  not,  at  this  mo- 
ment, direct  you  to  the  page ;  but  you  will 
readily  find  the  word  in  the  Index  of  Newton's 
edition  of  Milton. 

Of  all  the  poets  that  have  graced  ancient 
times,  or  delighted  the  latter  ages,  Milton  is 
my  favourite  ;  I  think  him  superiour  to  every 
other,  and  the  writer  of  all  others  best  cal- 
culated to  elevate  the  mind,  to  form  a  noble- 
ness of  taste,  and  to  teach  a  bold,  command- 
ing, energetick  language.  I  read  him  with 


1OS 

delight  as  soon  as  I  could  read  him  at  all ; 
and,  I  remember,  in  my  father's  words,  I 
gave  the  first  token  of  premature  abilities  in 
the  perusal  of  the  Paradise  Lost.  I  was  quite 
a  boy,  when,  in  reading  that  poem,  I  was  so 
forcibly  struck  with  a  passage,  that  I  laid 
down  the  book  with  some  violence  on  the  ta- 
ble, and  took  an  hasty  .turn  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  Upon  explaining  the  cause  of 
this  emotion  to  my  father,  he  clasped  me  in 
(his  arms,  smothered  me  with  embraces,  and 
immediately  wrote  letters  to  all  his  family  and 
friends,  to  inform  them  of  the  wonderful  fore- 
boding I  had  given  of  future  genius.  Your 
curiosity  may  naturally  expect  .to  be  gratified 
with  the  passage  in  question  ;  I  quote  it,  there- 
fore, for  your  reflection  and  amusement : 

He  spate  ;   and,  to  confirm  his  word*,  out  flew 
Millions  of  flaming  swords,  drawn  from  the  thighs 
Of  mighty  Cherubim  :   the  sudden  bliza 
Far  round  illumin'd  Hell  ! 

The  two  principal  orators  of  the  present  age 
(and  one  of  them,  perhaps,  a  greater  than  has 
been  produced  in  any  age)  are  the  Earls  of 
Mansfield  and  Chatham.  The  former  is  a 
great  man;  Ciceronian,  but,  I  should  think, 
inferiour  to  Cicero.  The  latter  is  a  greater 
man ;  Demosthenian,  but  superiour  to  Demos- 
thenes. The  first  formed  himself  on  the  mod- 


109 

el  of  the  great  Roman  orator ;  he  studied, 
translated,  rehearsed,  and  acted  his  orations : 
the  second  disdained  imitation,  and  was  him- 
self a  model  of  eloquence,  of  which  no  idea 
can  be  formed  but  by  those  who  have  seen 
and  heard  him.  His  words  have  sometimes 
frozen  my  young  blood  into  stagnation,  and 
sometimes  made  it  pace  in  such  an  hurry 
through  my  veins,  that  I  could  scarce  sup- 
port it.  He  however,  embellished  his  ideas 
by  classical  amusements,  and  occasionally 
read  the  sermons  of  Barrow^  wjiich  he  con- 
sidered as  a  mine  of  .nervous  expressions : 
but,  not  content  to  correct  and  instruct  his 
imagination  by  the  works  of  mortal  men,  he 
borrowed  his  noblest  images  from  the  lanr 
guage  of  inspiration.  Mr.  Edmund  Burke  al- 
so gives  an  happy  dignity  to  parts  of  his 
speeches  (a  want  of  which  is,  in  .general,  then- 
only  defect)  by  the  application  of  scriptural 
expressions. 

Though  I  have  such  bright  and  venerable 
examples  before  my  eyes,  I  pursue  a  some- 
what different,  but  not  an  opposite  track ;  for 
Milton,  from  the  excellence  and  form  of  his 
works,  has  every  claim  to  the  title  of  a  das- 
sick  :  from  the  nature  also  of  his  principal 
subjects,  which  are  4raw,n  from  scripture,  we 


110 

may  be  said,  in  some  degree,  to  read  the  sac- 
red writings  when  his  great  poetical  comment- 
ary of  them  (for  so  I  shall  call  his  Paradise 
Lost  and  Regained)  is  the  object  of  our  stvu 
dies.  The  orations  of  Cicero,  notwithstand- 
ing their  character  in  the  world,  please,  but 
do  not  inflame  me.  We  are  at  top  great  a  dis- 
tance from  the  period,  and  have  not  a  suffi- 
cient idea  of  the  manner  of  their  delivery,  to 
be  affected  by  them.  They  are  very  fine  com- 
positions ;  and  it  is  the  evidence  of  their  be- 
ing compositions  that  is  their  chief  fault :  and 
if  Lord  Mansfield  were  to  pronounce  the  best 
of  them,  in  his  best  manner,  I  doubt  much(of 
their  supposed  effect.  They  chill  the  warmth 
of  my  feelings ;  and  I  have  often  essayed, 
but  in  vain,  to  work  up  in  me  an  elevation  of 
mind  and  spirits  from  a  repetition  of  the  Ro- 
man orations.  I  must  acknowledge  that  Lord 
Bolingbroke,  a  great  and  splendid  authority,  is 
against  me,  who,  in  language  more  animating 
than  I  could  ever  find  in  Tultys  eloquence, 
declares  that  no  man  who  has  a  soul  can  read 
his  orations,  after  the  revolutions  of  so  many 
ages,  after  the  extinction  of  the  governments 
and  of  the  people  for  whom  they  were  com- 
posed, without  feeling  at  this  hour  the  pas- 
sions they  were  designed  to  move,  and  the 


Ill 

spirit  they  were  designed  to  raise.  If  this  be 
true,  in  his  Lordship's  sense  of  the  expres- 
sion, I  have  no  soul :  but  I  suspect  the  truth 
of  this  assertion,  as  I  well  know  that  he 
would,  at  any  time,  sacrifice  a  just  criticism 
to  a  brilliant  passage.  His  character  and  gen- 
ius were  both  intemperate ;  and,  when  his 
tongue  or  his  pen  were  pleased  with  their  sub- 
jects, he  was  borne  rapidly  on  by  the  stream 
of  eloquence,  not  considering  or  caring  whith- 
er he  went.  When  his  imagination  was  once 
kindled,  it  was  an  equal  chance  whether  he 
obscured  virtue,  or  dignified  vice.  The  source 
of  his  delusive  writings  was  an  head-strong, 
vivid  fancy,  which  practised  as  great  deceits 
upon  himself,  as  he  had  ever  done  upon  man- 
kind. But  to  return  to  my  subject — 

For  the  life  of  me,  I  cannot  read  sermons 
even  with  Lord  Chatham  ;  and  my  hands  are 
too  tmhallowed  to  unfold  the  sacred  volume  : 
but  I  find  in  Milton's  poems  every  thing  that 
is  sublime  in  thought,  beautiful  in  imagery, 
and  energetick  in  language  and  expression. 
To  attain  a  reputation  for  eloquence  is  my 
aim  and  my  ambition;  and,  if  I  should  ac- 
quire the  art  of  clothing  my  thoughts  in 
happy  language,  adorning  them  with  striking 
images,  or  enforcing  them  by  commanding 


words,  I  shall  be  indebted  for  such  advan- 
tages to  the  study  of  our  great  British  clas* 
sick. 

I  know  you  would  not  recommend  my 
friends,  the  poets,  to  take  a  leading  part  in 
the  study  of  eloquence.  You  may,  probably, 
apprehend  that  poetical  pursuits  would  be  apt 
to  give  too  poetical  a  turn  to  discourse  as  well 
as  writing ;  and  to  beget  a  greater  attention  to 
sound  than  to  sense.  Such  an  idea  is  certain- 
ly founded  in  truth ;  and  your  objections  are 
perfectly  sensible,  when  an  application  to  the 
poets  is  not  conducted  with  judgment,  and 
moderated  by  prosaick  reading  and  exercises. 
A  little  circumstance  in  point,  which  just  oc- 
curs to  me,  will  make  you  smile :  when  my 
father  completed  the  first  copy  of  his  history, 
the  friends,  to  whom  he  sent  it  for  their  criti- 
cism and  correction,  universally  agreed  in  its 
being  written  in  a  kind  of  irregular  blank 
verse,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  He 
was  much  surprised  at  the  information ;  but, 
on  examining  his  work,  he  found  it  to  be  true, 
and  gave  to  the  whole  the  excellent  dress  it 

now  wears.     Sir  Robert  R was  so  unfair 

as  to  impress  some  of  the  passages  upon  his 
memory,  and  has  since  been  so  ill-natured  as 
to  repeat  them.  But,  to  put  a  period  to  thi? 


113 

long  letter,  I  declare  myself  to  be  very  angry, 
when  you  are  but  twenty  miles  from  me,  that 
you  should  not  put  your  horses  to  your  chaise, 
and  be  here  in  a  shorter  space  of  time  than  is 
necessary  to  fill  up  half  a  sheet  of  papers — 
You  will  do  well  to  come  and  amuse  yourself 
here,  leaving  gouty  uncles  and  croaking  aunts 
to  themselves.  There  is  more  vivacity  con-i 
centrated  in  my  little  dell,  than  is  to  be  found 
in  all  the  ample  sweets  of  your  vale.  As  you 
are  musical,  I  will  prepare  a  syren  to  sing  to 
you,  and  you  shall  accompany  her  in  any  man* 
ner  you  please.  Adieu  ! 

Your's  most  truly,  &c. 


11-4 


LETTER  XXVII. 


1  CANNOT  yet  fancy  the  suspected  pre- 
liminaries of  alliance  between  Prance  and  A' 
inerica ;  and  I  will  tell  you  why  :  because  I 
think  it  will  not  be  the  mutual  interest  of  ei- 
ther of  them  to  engage  in  such  a  treaty. — 
The  French  finances  are  not  in  a  state  to  jus- 
tify the  risking  a  war  with  England,  which  an 
open  alliance  with  America  must  immediately 
produce.  Monsieur  de  Maupouz  and  Monsieur 
tie  Necker,  if  I  am  rightly  informed,  are  of  the 
same  opinion,  and,  I  believe,  from  nobler  mo- 
tives and  better  reasons,  are  in  opposition  to 
those  proposals  which  the  Americans  are  said 
to  have  offered  to  induce  France  to  give  an  a- 
vowed  support  to  their  cause.  My  informa- 
tion goes  somewhat  farther,  and  assures  me, 
that  the  opinions  of  the  two  statesmen  already 
mentioned  are  supported  by  all  the  graver  men 
and  older  officers  in  the  kingdom.  America,  at 
present,  makes  a  very  powerful  and  extraor- 
dinary resistance,  and  there  seems  to  be  a  spir- 
it awakened  in  her  people,  which  will  woefullr 


115 

prolong  the  period  of  her  reduction.  The  con- 
test is,  at  present,  between  a  child,  forced  into 
resistance  by  what  it  calls  tyranny,  and  a  pa- 
rent, enraged  at  filial  ingratitude,  who  is  resolv- 
ed to  reclaim  his  offspring  by  force  and  chas- 
tisement. In  such  a  state,  though  a  mad  spirit 
of  rebellion  may  instigate  revolted  children  to 
act  against  the  parent,  and  the  brethren  of  the 
house  of  their  parent,  the  latter  will  go  very 
reluctantly  to  the  business  of  blood-shed ;  and 
many  a  brave  man  will  consider  the  duty  of 
the  soldier  and  the  citizen  as  incompatible,  and 
let  the  former  sink  into  the  latter.  But  the  mo- 
ment that  America  flies  for  protection  to  the 
arms  of  France,  the  case  will  be  changed :  ev- 
ery tie  of  consanguinity  will  be  then  broken; 
it  will  be  impossible  to  distinguish  between 
them  and  their  allies ;  they  will  be  all  the  ob- 
ject of  one  common  resentment ;  and  the  A- 
mericans  must  expect,  as  they  will  surely  find, 
an  equal  exertion  against  them  as  will  be  em- 
ployed against  their  insidious  supporters. 

But  this  is  not  the  only  reason  why  I  think 
America  will  maintain  the  contest  better  with- 
out the  open  support  of  France ;  I  have  an- 
other, in  the  natural  aversion  they  bear  to 
each  other.  No  two  civilized  nations,  in  the 
same  quarter. of  the  globe,  can  bear  a  more 


116 

different  and  clashing  character  than  France 
and  the  revolted  colonies.  Fire  and  water 
would  as  soon  blend  their  opposite  elements, 
as  the  solemn,  gloomy,  unpolished  American^ 
with  the  gay,  sprightly,  animated  Frenchman. 
Besides,  how  will  it  be  possible  for  the  sim- 
ple, sullen  leaven  of  Calvinism  to  be  kneaded 
in  the  same  lump  with  the  motley  genius  and 
complicated  ceremony  of  Popery  ?  While  the 
hope  for  independence  keeps  alive  the  spirit 
of  contention,  such  considerations,  if  suggest- 
ed at  all,  will,  for  a  time,  give  way  to  their 
ambition ;  but,  should  the  object  of  it  be  at- 
tained, they  would  arise,  on  the  first  interval 
of  repose,  in  all  the  bitterness  of  disunion,  and 
bring  on  a  scene  of  internal  confusion  big  with 
greater  horrours  than  they  now  experience. — • 
What  will  these  deluded  people  think,  and  how 
will  they  act,  who,  after  manifesting  such  a  sol- 
emn and  bold  aversion  to  the  power  of  a  Prot- 
estant Bishop,  after  having  held  forth  the  act 
of  parliament,  which  gave  to  the  conquered  in- 
habitants of  Canada  a  toleration  of  their  relig- 
ion, as  one  of  their  justifications  to  rebellion — - 
I  repeat  again,  what  will  be  the  conduct  of 
these  people,  when  they  see  the  cross  adored 
in  their  streets,  and  hear  the  benedictions  and 
anathemas  of  Rome  pronounced  in  their  cities  ! 


117 

For  my  own  part,  I  cannot  conceive  such 
an  event  as  American  Independence ;  and,  in 
my  poor  opinion,  if  it  were  to  be  given  them 
to-morrow,  it  would,  in  the  end,  prove  a  worse 
present  than  the  Stamp- Act  itself,  with  ah1  its 
aggravated  horrours.  The  guards  are  order- 
ed tor 'cross  the  Atlantic^,  and along  with 

them.  I  am  glad  you  like  him  ;  I  thought  my 
prophecy  in  that  particular  would  be  fulfilled; 
You  knew  Madame,  I  think,  at  Geneva.  They 
both  possess  the  same  disposition  to  give  a 
pleasant  turn  to  every  thing.  They  put  their 
son  to  board  chez  un  Bourgois  de  Dijon,  and 
have  never  since  troubled  themselves  about 
the  boy,  or  the  pension  stipulated  for  his  sup- 
port. Luckily  for  the  child,  the  man  to  whose 
care  he  was  entrusted  has  taken  a  fancy  to 
him,  and  declares,  if  he  should  be  deserted 
by  his  parents,  that  he  will  do  his  best  to  pro- 
vide for  him  ;  and  our  friends  think  it  the  best 
joke  in  the  world. 

I  have  been  to  see  the  jfustitia  hulk,  where, 
among  many  other  miserables,  I  saw  poor 
Dignam  wear  the  habit  of  a  slave.  He  seem- 
ed disposed  to  speak  to  me ;  but  I  had  previ- 
ously desired  the  superintendent  to  request 
him,  since  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  do  him 
service,  to  wave  all  appearance  of  his  having 


118 

known  me.     This  mode  of  punishment  offers 
a  very  shocking  spectacle,  and,  I  think,  must 
undergo  some  alleviation,  if  it  be  not  entirely 
abolished.     If  it  were  to  come  again  before 
parliament,  I  should  give  the  subject  a  very 
serious  consideration,  and  the  measure  a  very 
serious  opposition.     Is  it  not  extraordinary, 
that  the  first  publick  exhibition  of  slavery  in 
this  kingdom — for  so  it  is,  however  the  situ- 
ation   may  be    qualified  by  law — should  be 
suggested  by  a  Scotchman,  and  that  the  first 
regulator  of  this  miserable   business  should 
be  from  the  same  country  ?    I  do  not  mean  to 
throw  out  any  unpleasant  ideas   concerning 
any  one,  whose  lot  it  was  to  be  born  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Tweed,  but  merely  to  state 
a  fact  for  your  observation.     I  have  known 
many  of  my  northern  fellow-subjects,  and  es- 
teemed them.    David  Hume  possesses  my  sin- 
cere admiration ;  but  though  the  object  of  his 
writings  was  to  remove  prejudices,  he  himself 
possessed  the  strongest  in  favour  of  his  coun- 
try, and  was,    as  is  the  great  weakness   of 
Scotchmen,   so  jealous  of  its  honour,  that  I 
gave  him  great  offence  at  Lord  Hertford's  at 
Ragley,  by  asking  him  at  what  time  of  the 
year  the  harvest  was  housed  in  Scotland. — 
My  question  arose  from  an  innocent  desire  of 


being  satisfied  in  that  particular  :  but  he  con- 
ceived it  to  convey  a  suspicion,  that  there  was 
no  harvest,  or  at  least  no  barns,  in  his  coun- 
try ;  and  his  answer  was  slight  and  churlish. 
Fare  you  well !  If  you  hear  any  thing  on  the 
continent  that  at  all  concerns  the  present  state 
of  publick  affairs,  I  beg  you  will  not  fail  to 
favour  me  with  the  most  early  communication* 
I  am,  with  great  sincerity, 

' 


120 


LETTER 


Mi    DEAR  ~^~*         , 

• 

I  CANNOT  assert  it  as  a  matter  within 
my  own  knowledge  ;  but  I  have  some  reason 
to  believe,  that  the  late  Earl  of  Bath,  at  the 
close  of  life,  manifested  a  kind  of  preference 
of  the  French  to  the  English  government.' — 
Upon  what  principles  such  an  opinion  was 
grounded,  I  cannot  pretend  to  say :  it  is  im- 
possible he  could  form  it  in  the  abstract ;  it 
must  arise,  therefore,  from  pride  of  heart,  de- 
grading sentiments  of  mankind,  a  natural  love 
of  power,  or  from  some  of  those  selfish  mo- 
tives which  grow  more  strong  and  prevalent 
as  men  approach  the  end  of  their  days.  In 
short,  the  French  government  might  be  more 
suitable  to  his  character  and  disposition ;  and, 
though  this  conjecture  is  not  in  his  favour,  I 
believe  it  to  have  a  foundation  in  truth.  It  is 
a  common  case  among  mankind,  where  reason 
and  judgment  are  perverted  by  the  strength  of 
habitual  inclination.  I  will  give  you  an  exam- 
ple that  shall  please  you. 


121 

No  one  of  common  understanding,  and  who 
has  the  least  idea  of  human  affairs  or  know- 
ledge of  human  nature,  after  a  comparative 
examination  of  the  Gospel  and  the  Alcoran^ 
but  will  give  to  the  former  a  most  instant,  / 
decided,  and  universal  preference.  He  will  ad* 
mire  the  rational  and  amiable  doctrines  of  the 
one,  and  as  readily  acknowledge  the  absurdi- 
ties of  the  other.  Nevertheless,  there  are  men 
of  sense — I  know  some  of  them,  and  so  do 
you,  my  friend — who  would  so  far  yield  to 
the  warm  desire  of  habitual  gratification,  as 
to  give  their  immediate  consent  to  exchange 
Christianity  for  the  religion  of  Mahomet. — 
Lord  Bath  must  have  been  indebted  for  the 
opinions  given  to  him,  to  the  triumph  of  an 
irrational  self-love  over  a  rational  love  of  man- 
kind :  perhaps  to  the  imbecility  of  his  social 
affections  may  be  added  the  strange  caprices 
of  disappointed  dotage. 

I  have  either  read  or  heard  an  assertion, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  find  upon  earth  a  soci- 
ety of  men,  who  govern  themselves  upon  prin- 
ciples of  humanity ;  and  I  am  forced  to  ac- 
knowledge, that  the  opinion  will  find  a  very 
powerful  support  in  the  customs  of  almost  ev- 
ery country  in  the  world.  Whoever  will  con- 
sider with  attention  the  histories  of  mankind, 


122 

and  examine,  with  an  impartial  eye,  the  con- 
duct of  different  nations,  will  be  seen  con- 
vinced, that,  except  those  duties  which  are 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  preservation  of 
the  human  species,  he  cannot  name  any  prin- 
ciple of  morals,  nor  imagine  any  rule  of  virtue, 
which,  in  some  part  or  other  of  the  v,  orld^  is 
not  directly  contradicted  by  the  general  prac- 
tice of  entire  societies.  The  most  polisl  <_d 
nations  have  supposed,  that  they  had  an  equal 
right  to  expose  their  children,  as  to  bring  them 
into  the  world.  There  are  countries  now  ex- 
isting, where  the  child  feels  it  as  an  high  act 
of  filial  duty  to  desert  or  murder  their  parents, 
when  they  can  no  longer  contribute  to  their 
own  support.  Garcilasso  cle  la  Fega  relates, 
that  certain  people  of  Peru  make  concubines 
of  their  female  prisoners  of  war,  nourish  and 
carefully  feed  the  children  they  have  by  them, 
on  whom  they  afterwards  feast.  But  this  is 
not  all ;  when  the  wretched  mother  can  r.o 
longer  furnish  the  delicacies  of  their  horrid 
banquets  from  her  womb,  she  shares  the  fate 
of  her  offspring,  and  be-cornes  the  meal  of  the 
barbarians,  whose  throats  had  been  moistened 
with  the  blood  of  her  children. 

It  would  be  a  matter  of  very  little  difficulty 
10  fill  a  volume  with  the  various  inhumanities 


123 

-which  mingle  with  the  governments  of  the 
Asian,  African,  and  savage  American  nations 
of  this  day.  .  The  historians,  .also;  of  •  ancient 
times,  would  greatly  increase  the  sad  history 
of  human  calamity ;  nor  is  the  quarter  of  the 
world  which  we  inhabit  exempted  from  fur- 
nishing its  quota  to  the  miserable  account. — 
The  various  customs,  religions,  and  govern- 
ments which  divide  more  enlightened  Europe, 
might  furnish  a  multitude  of  actions  less  bar- 
barous, indeed,  in  their  appearance,  but  as 
reprehensible  in  reality,  and  as  dangerous  in 
their  consequences,  as  those  already  recited. 
England,  however,  has  this  advantage  over 
the  rest  of  her  neighbour  kingdoms,  that  the 
examples  of  inhumanity  which  she  has  pro- 
duced have  arisen  from  an  audacious  abuse 
of  her  laws ;  while  those  of  other  nations 
seem  to  arise  from  the  nature  of  their  consti- 
tutions. A  code  of  such  wise,  rational,  and 
humane  legislation  never  was  known  in  the 
world,  as  that  which  prescribes  the  rule  of 
conduct,  as  well  to  the  governours  as  to  the 
governed,  in  our  kingdom.  The  principles 
of  it  are  founded  in  the  perfection  of  human 
reason,  and,  in  a  certain  degree,  on  that  hap. 
py  union  of  justice  and  mercy  which  divines 
have  given  to  the  decrees  of  Omnipotence. — 


124 

But  my  paper  admonishes  me  to  quit  this  in- 
teresting subject,  or  it  will  not  leave  me  a 
space  sufficient  to  assure  you  with  what  real 

regard  I  am 

Your's,  &c, 


125 
LETTER   XXIX. 

THE  first  article  of  your  letter,  which 

tells  me  of 's  death,  has  very  much 

affected  me  ;  and,  if  it  had  arrived  three  hours 
sooner,  I  would  have  set  off  for  London,  to 
have  dissipated  the  grave  thoughts  it  occa- 
sions. I  can  hardly  give  credit  to  your  ac- 
count of  her  last  moments :  she  had  much  to 
regret;  rank,  fortune,  friends,  and  beauty, 
which,  St.  Evremand  says,  a  \voman.  parts 
with  more  reluctantly  than  even  life  itself. — 
By  this  time,  I  trust,  she  has  reached  the  E- 
lysian  Fields,  and,  with  the  blest  inhabitants 
of  that  delightful  abode, 

On  flow'rs  repoiM,  and  with  fresh  garlands  crowii'J, 
Quaffs  immortality  and  joy. • 

However  that  may  be,  the  event  of  her 
death  is  very  sensibly  felt  by  me.  I  shall  miss 
her  very  much;  not  indeed  as  an  acquaint- 
ance— for  she  would  admit  me  only  to  her 
publick  assemblies — but  as  an  object  of  res- 
pect :  and  truly  sorry  am  I  that  she  is  gone, 
for  the  sake  of  her  sex,  as  she  has  not  left  one 


126 

behind  who  can  supply  her  place  in  my  good 
opinion.  I  had  a  sort  of  occasional  respect  for 
every  woman,  on  her  account,!  which  I  fear  will 
be  buried  in  her  grave.  She  had  nothing  of 
female  inconsistency  about  her,  and  every 
thing  of  female  delicacy.  She  conversed  with 
the  understanding  of  a  man,  but  with  the  grace 
and  elegance  of  her  own  sex.  Her  sentiments, 
language,  and  manners,  were,  like  her  own 
frame,  in  the  image  of  man,  but  possessing 
every  attraction  of -female,  nature.  I  will  tell 
you  a  secret  f  she  was  the  only  woman  who 
ever  made  me  blush,  and  she  once  dyed;my 
cheeks  with  such  a  crimson  shame,  that  I  feel 

them  glow  at  this  distant  moment.  .    * 

*  *  *  *  #  *          •.  # 

. 

.  *  *  * 

*      •  *       *       *       *       *       * 

To  maintain  the  qualities  of  goodness,  "ten- 
derness, affection,  and  sincerity,  in  the  seve- 
ral offices  of  life  ;  to  disdain  ambition,  avarice, 
luxury,  and  wantonness  ;  and  to  avoid  affec- 
tation, folly,  childishness,  and  levity — is  the 
consummation  of  a  female  character,  and  was 
fully  accomplished  by  the  lovely  woman  who 
is  no  more.  She  little  thought,  I  believe,  that 
it  would  be  an  employment  of  mine  to  pen  her 
eulogium ;  and  you  smile, .  I  suppose,  at  my 


127 

pretensions  to  describe  female  perfection.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  1  strained  very  hard  to  pro- 
duce the  foregoing  period.  My  brain  had  a 
severe  labour  of  it,  and  suffered  no  small  pains 
in  the  delivery.  However,  I  now  recommend 
the  pious  bantling  to  your  care  ;  and,  I  think, 
the  midwife  and  the  nurse  will  not  contest  the 
business  of  superiour  qualifications. 

I  put  an  end  to  the  pleasure  of  my  acquaint- 
ance with at  the  Duke  of  Bolton's 

masquerade  at  Hackwood,  some  years  ago,  by 
what  I  thought  a  little  simple  love-making,  but 
which  she  thought  impudence  ;  and  she  has 
never  suffered  me  to  approach  her  since  that 
time,  but  upon  the  most  distant  footing.  You 
may  know,  perhaps,  that  I  have  got  a  terrible 
character  for  this  self-same  vice  of  effrontery, 
and,  I  am  afraid,  not  without  some  little  rea- 
son. It  is,  upon  the  whole,  an  imprudent 
mode  of  proceeding;  and,  though  attended 
with  more  success  than  modest  people  may 
imagine,  as  you  well  know,  never  has  a  pros- 
perous conclusion.  One  failure  tacks  a  mis- 
erable epithet  to  one's  name  for  ever.  In  mil- 
itary operations,  the  attack  by  storm  sometimes 
effects  great  matters ;  but,  on  such  a  design, 
a  repulse  is  sometimes  fatal,  and  always  at- 
tended with  much  loss  and  blood-shed.  This 


123 

has  been  the  case  with  me  in  fields  less  glo- 
rious, but  far  more  delightful,  than  those  of 
Mars. 

The  arrival  of  news-papers  has  caused  a 
short  interruption  to  my  writing  ;  and  they  ac- 
quaint me  with  a  circumstance  which  you  have 
omitted,  that  she  died  in  child-bed.  It  was  a 
custom,  as  I  have  read,  among  some  of  the 
ancient  nations,  to  bury  the  infant  alive  with 
the  mother  whose  death  it  had  occasioned.  I 
shudder  at  the  idea ;  nevertheless,  in  this  par- 
ticular instance,  I  am  disposed  to  vote  all  my 
malice  to  the  brat  which  has  deprived  the 
world  of  so  bright  an  ornament.  Adieu !— « 
Shall  I  pay  a  compliment  to  your  penetration, 
in  supposing  that  you  will  perceive  how  tardi- 
ly my  pen  has  proceeded  to  the  bottom  of  the 
page  ?  But  this  is  literally  the  fact.  The 
French  proverb  says,  On  ne  parle  janiais  de 
bonne  foi,  quand  on  parle  mal  des  femrnes.  j 
apprehended  you  would  be  unlucky  enough 
to  reverse  the  sentiment,  and  apply  it  to 

Your's,  &c. 


129 


LETTER   XXX. 


WE  all  of  us  grew  suddenly  tired  of  our 
Wiltshire  rustication ;  and,  without  a  dissen- 
tient voice,  voted  a  party  to  Bristol,  where  I 
eat  such  excellent  turtle,  and  drank  such  ex- 
ecrable wine,  that,  with  the  heat  of  the  weath- 
er into  the  bargain,  I  was  suddenly  taken  ill 
at  the  play-house,  almost  to  fainting,  and  was 
obliged  to  hurry  into  the  air  for  respiration. 
Believe  me,  I  did  not  like  the  business.  Cold 
sweats  and  shiverings,  accompanied  with  in- 
ternal sinkings,  gave  me  a  better  notion  of  dy- 
ing than  I  had  before,  and  made  me  think  so 
seriously  of  this  mortal  life,  that,  on  my  re- 
turn home,  I  shall  take  the  opportunity  of  the 
first  gloomy  day  to  make  my  will,  appoint  ex- 
ecutors, and  harangue  my  lawyer  into  low 
spirits  on  the  doctrine  of  death  and  judgment. 
I  exhibited  myself — for  none  of  the  party 
would  accompany  me — at  a  publick  breakfast 
at  the  Hot  Wells,  and  sat  down  at  a  long  table 
with  a  number  of  animated  cadavers,  who  de- 
voured their  meal  as  if  they  had  not  an  hour 

R 


130 

to  live  ;  and,  indeed,  many  of  them  seemed  to 
be  in  that  doleful  predicament.  But  this  was 
not  all.  I  saw  three  or  four  groups  of  hectick 
spectres  engage  in  cotillions  :  it  brought  in- 
stantly to  my  mind  Holbein's  Dance  of  Death; 
and  methought  I  saw  the  raw-boned  scare- 
crow piping  and  labouring  to  his  victims. — So 
I  proceeded  to  the  fountain  ;  but,  instead  of 
rosy,  blooming  health,  diseases  of  every  col- 
our and  complexion  guarded  the  springs.  As 
I  approached  to  taste  them,  I  was  fanned  by 
the  foetid  breath  of  gasping  consumptions, 
stunned  with  expiring  coughs,  and  suffocated 
with  the  effluvia  of  ulcerated  lungs.  Such  a 
living  Golgotha  never  entered  into  my  concep- 
tions ;  and  I  could  not  but  look  upon  the  stu- 
pendous rocks,  that  rise  in  rude  magnificence 
around  the  place,  as  the  wide-spreading  jaws 
of  an  universal  sepulchre. 

Lord  JFalpole  told  me  he  was  there  in  at- 
tendance upon  a  daughter.  I  was  glad  to  turn 
my  back  upon  the  scene :  but  I  had  not  yet 
come  to  the  conclusion  of  it ;  for  as  I  was  wait- 
ing for  my  chaise,  two  different  persons  put 
cards  into  my  hand,  which  informed  me  where 
funerals  were  to  be  furnished  with  the  great- 
est expedition,  and  that  hearses  and  mourning 
"coaches  were  to  let  to  any  n;m  of  England. 


131 

I  immediately  leaped  into  my  carriage,  and  or- 
dered the  postilion  to  drive  with  all  possible 
haste  from  a  place,  where  I  was  in  danger  of 
being  buried  alive. 

After  all,  this  tenancy  of  life  is  but  a  bad 
one,  with  its  waste  and  ingress  of  torturing 
diseases ;  which,  not  content  with  destroying 
the  building,  maliciously  torture  the  possessor 
with  such  pains  and  penalties,  as  to  make  him 
oftentimes  curse  the  possession. 

Man's  feeble  race  what  ills  a\rait  ? 

Labour  and  penury — the  racks  of  pain  : 

Disease  and  sorrow's  mournful  train, 

And  Death,  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  Fate. 

If  I  continue  this  kind  of  letter  any  farther, 
you  will  tell  me  that  I  shall  repent,  found  hos- 
pitals, and  die  a  Methodist ;  and  that  Roches- 
ter's funeral-sermon  and  mine  will  be  bound 
up  in  the  same  volume,  to  the  edification  and 
comfort  of  all  sinners  of  every  enormity.  A- 
dieu,  therefore,  and  believe  me,  very  truly, 

Your's,  &c, 


132 


LETTER    XXXL 


I  NEITHER  hunt  nor  shoot ;  the  form- 
er is  a  diversion  which  requires  certain  sacri- 
fices that  I  cannot  grant,  and  shall  not  enume- 
rate ;  the  latter  suits  me  better,  but  is  as  little 
pursued  as  the  other.  The  business  and  form, 
not  to  say  tyranny,  of  preserving  game,  which 
is  necessary  to  establish  a  certainty  of  sport, 
is  not  to  my  way  of  thinking.  The  laws  con- 
cerning game  form  a  very  unconstitutional  mo- 
nopoly :  but  that  is  not  all ;  the  peace  and  so- 
ciety of  provincial  vicinities  are  more  or  less 
disturbed,  by  jealousies  and  disputes  arising 
from  the  game,  in  every  part  of  the  kingdom. 
My  country  employments  are  better  than  you 
imagine.  I  am  reading,  with  great  care  and 
observation,  the  works  of  the  Chancellor 
D'Agueseau  of  France.  Many  years  ago,  my 
father  gave  a  volume  of  them  to  me,  desiring 
me  to  study  it  with  attention,  and  consider  the 
contents  as  his  own  paternal  counsels.  At  that 
time  I  did  neither  the  one  nor  the  other ;  how- 
ever, I  am  now  making  ample  amends  for  for- 


133 

mer  neglect.  The  magistrate,  the  statesman, 
the  lawyer,  the  man  of  the  world,  the  orator, 
and  the  philosopher  will  find  delight  and  in- 
struction in  these  volumes.  I  can  say  no  more ; 
and  what  I  have  now  said  will  add  them  to 
your  library,  if  it  does  not  already  possess 
them. 

You  must  know  that  I  am  angry  with  you 
for  writing  to  me  ;  or,  rather,  for  not  coming, 
instead  of  writing.  Delay  not  to  visit  a  place 
you  so  much  admire,  and  to  see  a  friend  who 
loves  and  values  you.  We  will  study  togeth- 
er in  the  morning,  and  court  the  Muses  in  the 
evening ;  and  you  shall  visit  Pope's  urn  by 
moon-light,  and  I  will  promise  not  to  laugh 
at  you.  I  propose  to  remain  here  a  fortnight 
longer ;  but,  if  you  will  come  to  me,  the  time 
of  my  departure  shall  be  prolonged  to  your 
pleasure.  I  am,  with  real  regard, 

Your  most  faithful,  &c. 


LETTER  XXXII. 


MY  LORD, 

IN  obedience  to  your  Lordship's  com- 
mands, I  have  left  no  place  unsearched,  and 
have  ordered  every  possible  inquiry  to  be 
made  after  the  manuscript  -which  my  father 
read  to  you  a  short  time  before  his  death,  but 
in  vain.  As  he  had  determined  upon  a  re- 
publication  of  his  Miscellaneous  Works,  with 
the  addition  of  some  pieces  which  had  never 
been  printed,  I  imagine  he  was  cautious  about 
preserving  any  papers  or  compositions  that 
were  not  in  his  opinion  sufficiently  prepared 
for  the  press,  lest  the  partiality  of  his  surviv- 
ing friends  might  give  them  to  the  world. 

I  am  apprehensive,  my  Lord,  that  the  man- 
uscript in  question  shared  the  fate  of  many 
others  which  he  had  not  an  inclination  to  fin- 
ish, and  did  not  choose  to  leave  in  an  unfin- 
ished state.  However,  in  my  search,  I  found 
three  or  four  large  sheets  of  paper  in  a  folio 
volume,  which  appear  to  contain  extracts  from 
the  memoirs  of  the  great  men  of  the  last  and 


135 

present  centuries,  and  were  probably  some  of 
the  rude  materials  that  formed  the  biographical 
sketches  which  your  Lordship  so  much  admir- 
ed, and  whose  loss,  on  that  account,  gives  me 
so  much  concern.  These  papers  contain  little 
more  than  scraps  of  characters.  The  princi- 
pal object  of  them  seems  to  be  the  Duke  de 
Vitri,  ambassadour  plenipotentiary  from  the 
French  king,  for  the  peace  of  Nimeguen  ;  but 
it  is  impossible  to  form  out  of  them  any  satis- 
factory account  of  that  able  negociator.  That 
my  letter,  however,  may  not  be  entirely  with- 
out amusement,  I  shall  add  a  couple  of  quo- 
tations, which  I  have  found  among  the  rest, 
from  the  characters  of  very  figuring  personag- 
es on  the  theatre  of  Europe.  I  call  them  quo- 
tations, as  they  are  written  in  Italian,  though 
I  cannot  name  the  author  from  wrhence  they 
are  taken,  and  are  immediately  followed .  by 
the  character  of  Petronius^  from  the  annals  of 
Tacitus.  The  first  of  them  relates  to  Cardinal 
Mazarin,  and  the  second  to  Oliver  Cromwell. 
I  shall  make  no  apology  to  your  Lordship  for 
their  language,  as  I  have  been  informed  thai 
you  understand  it  equally  well  with  your  own. 
I  am,  my  Lord, 

With  great  respect 

And  obligation,  &c. 


136 

CARDINAL  MAZARIN. 
MOL  TO  la  natura,  non  poco  Varte,  tutto  gli 
tontribui  lafortuna,  che  suppli  con  la  dignita  a 
do  che  manco  ne'  natali.  Egli  haveva  bella  e 
grata  presenza,  faccia  licta  &  amabile,  occhi 
vavaci,  gratia  e  decoro  ugualmente  se  parlava, 
o  taceva.  Phi  che  Jino  e  capace  in  simular  Vin- 
tentioni,  e  dissimulare  gli  qffetti.  La  for  tuna 
lo  sostenne  ad  ogni  passo,  e  se  pur  alcuna  volta 
les  pose  al  timor  &  al  pericolo,  non  fu  che  per 
animarlo,  e  per  trarnelo  con  maggiore  trionfo. 

CROMWELL. 

HUOMO  grande  ne  i  vitii^  e  nelle  virtu,  che 
neV  arbitrio  di  licentiosa  fortuna  visse  con  mi- 
rabile  continenza,  sobrio,  casto,  modesto,  vigi- 
lante, indefesso,  ma  da  estrema  ambitione  agi- 
tato, appena  pote  satiarsi  col  sangite  del  Re,  e 
coll'  oppressione  del  regno. 


137 


LETTER  XXXIIL 


HAVE  you  ever  by  chance  looked  into  a 
book  on  the  science  of  cookery  ?  If  so,  have 
you  not  observed,  that  the  culinary  disciple 
is  instructed,  when  certain  quantities  of  gra- 
vy, or  essence,  or  conserves,  are  prepared, 
to  put  them  by  for  use  ?  Now,  if  we  could 
manage  our  ideas  in  the  same  manner ;  if  we 
could  lock  up  our  acquired  thoughts  and 
knowledge  in  a  kind  of  intellectual  store-room, 
from  whence  they  might  be  drawn  forth  for 
application ;  we  should  no  longer  be  the 
slaves  of  a  capricious  recollection,  which  at 
this  hour  offers  its  treasures  with  intuitive 
readiness,  yields  them  on  the  morrow  with 
sullen  reluctance,  and  on  the  succeeding  day 
may  refuse  them  to  our  most  arduous  re- 
searches. The  active  events  of  life,  howev- 
er, seldom  die  on  the  remembrance ;  and  you 
must  certainly  be  mistaken  in  associating  with 
me  the  circumstance  you  mention  in  your  let- 
ter, which  is  at  this  instant  before  me.  It  is 
morally  impossible  that  I  should  have  forgot- 


138 

ten  it.  My  memory,  perhaps,  is  the  only  fac- 
ulty I  possess,  which  has  not  at  one  time  or 
other  deceived  me  :  nay,  so  firm  is  its  texture, 
that  the  oblivious  hours  of  courtship  do  not 
affect  its  wonted  capacities — though,  to  say 
the  truth,  mine  is  a  very  drowsy  progress. — 
Assiduity  without  love,  tenderness  without 
sincerity,  and  dalliance  without  desire,  afford 
the  miserable,  the  hopeless,  but  the  faithful 
picture  of  my  sluggish  journey  to  the  temple 
of  Hymen,  However,  to  give  something  of 
colour  to  the  intervening  hours  between  con- 
sent and  fruition,  his  Lordship  performs  won- 
ders, and  sighs  and  flatters  for  his  heedless 
son :  nay,  he  tunes  his  neglected  lyre,  and 
sings  the  power  of  those  charms,  which,  by 
an  Anti-Circean  fascination,  are  destined,  by 
his  fancy,  to  recal  my  vagrant  footsteps  to 
the  paths  of  virtue.  But,  alas !  I  know  not 
the  resolution  of  the  Greek;  I  cannot  resist 
the  song  of  the  syrens ;  and,  partial  as  I  may 
be  to  paternal  musick,  it  will  prove,  in  its  in- 
fluence upon  me,  far  inferiour  to  their's. 

But  all  is  not  torpor  and  inanimation,  and 
what  love  could  not  produce,  vanity  has  in- 
spired. Two  of  the  brethren  of  the  house  of 
my  Dulcinea  made  her  a  visit  last  week,  with 
a  design  of  turning  her  from  the  expectation 


of  a  coronet  and  from  me.  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  they  are  honest,  simple  bourgeois,  or  they 
would  not  have  meditated  such  a  fruitless  er- 
rand to  their  ambitious  sister.  I  was  well  as- 
sured that  they  would  not  convert  her,  and 
the  fancy  came  across  me  to  aim  at  converting 
them.  In  this  business  I  so  exerted  myself  in 
every  form  of  attention,  flattery,  and  amuse- 
ment, that  I  verily  believe  they  returned  to 
their  home  at  Chipping- Nor  ton  without  enforc- 
ing that  remonstrance  which  was  the  motive 
to  their  journey.  That  Clipping-Norton^  in 
whose  neighbourhood  I  passed  with  my  grand- 
mother many  of  my  youthful  days,  and  te-which 
I  had  never  associated  any  idea  but  that  of  pigs 
playing  upon  organs  ;  that  chilly  Chipping-Nor- 
ton  should  yield  one  of  its  former  toasts  to  be 
the  Cara  sposa  of  your  friend !  What  can  your 
fertile  fancy  deduce  from  the  union  of  Hagley's 
genius  and  the  widowed  protectress  of  the  more 
than  widowed  Leasowes  ?  If  offspring  there 
should  be,  what  a  strange  demi-Theocrite  will 
owe  its  being  to  such  an  Hymen.  Alas  !  my 
friend,  this  is  but  a  dream  for  your  amuse- 
ment ;  the  reality  will  offer  to  your  compas- 
sionate experience  the  marriage  of  infatuation 
and  necessity,  whose  legitimate  and  certain  is- 


140 

Sue  will  be  a  separate  maintenance,  and  per- 
haps a  titled  dowry. 

I  have  many  and  various  communications  to 
make  to  you,  but  they  must  be  reserved  for 
personal  intercourse.  In  the  mean  time,  when 
you  shall  see  me  announced  as  being  added  to 
the  Benedicks  of  the  year,  save  me,  I  beseech 
you,  save  me  your  congratulations.  Nothing 
is  so  absurd  as  the  tide  of  felicitations  which 
flow  in  upon  a  poor  newly-married  man,  be- 
fore he  himself  can  determine,  and  much  less 
the  complimenting  world,  upon  the  propriety 
of  them.  Marriage  is  the  grand  lottery  of 
life  ;  and  it  is  as  great  a  folly  to  exult  upon 
entering  into  it,  as  on  the  purchase  of  a  ticket 
in  the  state-wheel  of  fortune.  It  is  when  the 
ticket  is  drawn  a  prize  that  we  can  answer  to 
congratulation. Adieu  I 


141 


LETTER 


MY   DEAR , 

IF  I  am  not  very  much  mistaken,  your 
library-table  is  always  furnished  with  an  in- 
terleaved Bruyere,  on  whose  blank  pages  you 
amuse  yourself  with  extending  the  ideas  of 
that  celebrated  writer,  or  directing  them  to 
modern  applications.  I  am,  therefore,  to  of- 
fer my  name  as  an  addition  to  your  collections, 
and  to  desire  that  in  your  scholia  on  that  excel- 
lent work,  I  may  furnish  a  trait  to  his  admira- 
ble character  of  the  absent  man. 

On  the  day  of  my  marriage,  a  day 

but  no  more  of  that ! — After  the  nuptial  bene- 
diction was  over,  and  we  were  returning  to 
our  equipage,  instead  of  being  the  gallant 
Benedick,  and  conducting  the  new-made  Mrs. 

L to  her  coach,  I  slouched  on  before, 

and  was  actually  getting  into  the  carriage,  as 
if  I  had  been  quite  alone ;  but,  recollecting 
myself  as  my  foot  was  upon  the  step,  I  turn- 
ed round  to  make  my  apology,  which  com- 


pleted  the  business,  for  I  addressed  the  bride 
in  her  widowed  name,  with  "  My  dear  Mrs. 

"  P ,  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons,"  and 

so  on.  This  fit  of  absence  was  as  strange  as 
it  proved  ridiculous — an  omen,  perhaps,  of  all 
the  ungracious  business  which  is  to  follow. — 
You  may  first  laugh  at  this  little  foolish  histo- 
ry, and  then,  if  you  please,  apply  it  to  a  more 
serious  purpose.  But  this  species  of  absence 
is  an  hereditary  virtue.  A  virtue  !  say  you. 
Yes,  Sir,  a  virtue  ;  for  it  is  a  mark  of  genius, 
and  my  Right  Honourable  father  possesses  it 
in  a  most  nattering  degree.  I  will  present  you 
with  a  most  remarkable  example,  which  you 
may  also  add  to  the  composition  of  your  mod- 
ern Theophrastus.  His  Lordship  was  about 
to  pay  a  morning  sacrifice  at  the  shrine  of 

M ,  and  a  large  bunch  of  early  pinks 

lay  upon  his  toilette,  which  were  to  compose 
the  offering  of  the  day.  With  those  antique 
or  professional  beaux,  who  wear  the  tye  or 
large  flowing  wig,  it  appears  to  be  convenient, 
in  the  ceremony  of  their  dress,  that  the  head 
should  bring  up  the  rear,  and  be  covered  the 
last.  The  full-trimmed  suit  was  put  on,  the 
sword  was  girded  to  his  side,  the  chapeau  bos 
was  compressed  by  his  left  arm,  the  bunch  of 
pinks  graced  his  right-hand,  and  his  night-cap 


143 

remained  upon  his  pate.  The  servant  having 
left  the  room,  the  venerable  peer,  forgetful  of 
his  perukean  honours,  would  actually  have 
sallied  forth  into  the  street  in  full  array  and 
en  bonnet  de  nuit,  if  his  valet  de  chambre  had 
not  arrived,  at  the  critical  moment,  to  prevent 
his  singular  exit.  I  was  present,  but  my  as- 
tonishment at  his  figure  so  totally  suspended 
my  faculties,  that  he  would  have  made  the 
length  of  Curzon-street  before  I  should  have 
recovered  any  power  of  reflection.  I  was  ac- 
cused, as  you  may  suspect,  of  a  purposed  in- 
attention, in  order  to  render  his  Lordship  ri- 
diculous ;  and  I  was  told  upon  the  occasion, 
that,  although  this  kind  of  occasional  absence 
of  mind  might  furnish  folly  with  laughter,  it 
generally  arose  from  that  habitual  exertion  of 
thought  which  produces  wisdom.  You  may 
congratulate  me,  therefore,  on  the  prospect  of 
my  advancement  to  the  title  of  sage. 

I  am  already  married,  and  what  is  to  follow 
God  alone  knows.  Strange  things  daily  hap- 
pen dans  ce  bas  monde,  and  things  more  strange 
may  be  behind.  I  have  such  a  budget  to  open 
for  you  ! — but  that  discovery  must  be  reserv- 
ed till  we  meet.  Suffice  it  to  say  at  present, 

Qt'xdam  parva  cjuidem;  sed  non  tolerar.da  maritis. 


144 


LETTER  XXX V. 


I  CONGRATULATE  you,  with  no  com- 
mon  sincerity,  on  having  got  most  complete- 
ly into  a  scrape  from  whence  all  your  finesse 
and  prudent  demeanour  will  not  be  able  to  ex- 
tricate you.  I  have  seen  you,  more  than  once, 
venture  upon  a  flight  which  left  my  effrontery 
far  behind,  while  I  could  not  but  envy  you 
the  advantages  which  publick  prepossession  in 
your  favour  gave  you  over  me.  Frequently 
have  I  blasphemed  my  stars  for  not  having 
given  me  the  art  of  saving  appearances,  which 
you  so  eminently  possess  ;  but  I  have  now 
good  reason  to  hope,  that  you  have,  at  length, 
fallen  from  your  height,  and  will  be  obliged 
in  future  to  roll  in  the  mire  with  myself,  and 
a  few  others  of  our  common  nature.  The  dev- 
il, in  the  language  of  the  proverb,  having  long 
owed  you  a  grudge,  has  taken  a  very  fair  op- 
portunity to  pay  it.  You  may  now  exclaim, 
on  your  entrance  into  our  Pandzemonium, 

Hail,  horrours,  hail !  and  thou,  profoundeit  Hell, 
Receive  thy  new  possessor. 


145 

For  your  consolation,  however,  I  shall  in- 
form you,  that,  before  the  period  of  my  pres- 
ent incorrigible  humour,  I  was  once  in  a  state 
of  disadvantage,  very  similar,  in  its  circum- 
stances and  effects,  to  that  which  has  now 
overtaken  you.  You  must  know,  then,  that 
some  years  ago  I  had  formed  an  unlucky  plan 
to  mortify  my  Right  Reverend  uncle,  who 
had  taken  some  authoritative  liberties  with 
me,  without  giving  him  a  fair  opportunity  to 
express  his  resentment.  This  was  no  less 
than  an  attack  upon  the  temporal  privilege  of 
Episcopacy,  in  possessing  a  seat  in  the  House 
of  Lords.  I  had  some  thoughts  of  my  own 
upon  the  subject,  but  I  had  fortunately  added 
to  their  number  and  importance  from  the  ac- 
cidental perusal  of  a  re-published  tract  on  the 
conduct  of  our  Bishops  through  upwards  of 
twenty  reigns,  which  unanswerably  proved, 
that,  during  so  long  a  period,  they  had  al- 
most uniformly  manifested  themselves  to  be 
foes  to  rational  liberty.  I  took  up  the  argu- 
ment in  a  very  general  view,  urged  it  with 
modesty,  and,  what  was  better,  with  securi- 
ty, as,  in  case  it  had  been  returned  with  an- 
ger, I  was  armed  with  the  opinion  of  my  fa- 
ther, who  was  present,  and,  in  his  Persian 
Letters,  has  written  to  the  same  purpose.  In 


146 

short,  I  enjoyed  all  the  triumph  that  my  ma- 
licious expectation  could  have  framed.  The 
prelate  grinned  with  vexation,  but  was  forced 
to  acquiesce  in  silence,  and  I  had  my  revenge. 
But,  not  many  days  after,  when  my  resent- 
ment towards  this  Reverend  Relation  had 
been  lost  in  its  fruition,  a  trifling  circum- 
stance happened,  which  his  vigilant  anger 
gladly  seized,  in  order  to  heap  upon  me  eve- 
ry indignity  which  his  truly  Christian  spirit 
was  capable  of  producing.  As  a  family  par- 
ty of  us  were  crossing  the  road  on  the  side  of 
Hagley  Park,  a  chaise  passed  along,  followed 
by  a  couple  of  attendants  with  French  horns. 
Who  can  that  be  ?  said  my  father.  Some 
itinerant  mountebank,  replied  I,  if  one  may 
judge  from  his  musical  followers.  I  really 
spoke  with  all  the  indifference  of  an  innocent 
mind ;  nor  did  it  occur  to  me,  that  the  Right 
Reverend  Father  in  God,  my  uncle,  had  some- 
times been  pleased  to  travel  with  servants  ac- 
coutred with  similar  instruments. 

But  evil  on  itself  will  soon  recoil ; 

and  my  recollection  was  soon  restored  to  me 
by  a  torrent  of  abuse,  which  was,  in  length, 
violence,  and,  I  had  almost  said,  in  expres- 
sion, equal  to  any  sacred  anathema  of  Popish 
resentment.  In  short,  I  was  cursed,  damned, 


147 

and  sent  to  the  Devil,  in  all  the  chaste  peri- 
phrasis of  a  priest's  implacability.  The  whole 
of  the  business  was  of  a  very  singular  nature  : 
he  availed  himself  of  an  inoffensive  occur- 
rence to  let  loose  his  resentment  at  a  past  of- 
fence ;  while  I,  in  a  state  of  actual  innocence, 
sunk  beneath  the  consciousness  of  my  past 
guilt.  This  last  part  of  the  story  is,  I  pre- 
sume, in  perfect  unison  with  your  present 
feelings.  But,  to  conclude  with  a  serious  ob- 
servation, be  assured,  my  friend,  that,  how- 
ever rich,  great,  or  powerful  a  man  may  be, 
it  is  the  height  of  folly  to  make,  personal  ene- 
mies from  any,  but  particularly  from  person- 
al motives  :  for  one  unguarded  moment — and 
who  could  support  the  horrours  of  a  never- 
ceasing,  suspicious  vigilance  ? — may  yield  you 
to  the  revenge  of  the  most  despicable  of  man- 
kind. From  a  very  unpleasant  experience  of 
my  own,  I  should  most  sincerely  counsel  ev- 
ery young  man,  who  is  entering  on  the  thea- 
tre of  the  world,  to  merit  the  good  opinion  of 
mankind,  by  an  easy,  unaffected,  and  amiable 
deportment  to  all,  which  will  do  more  to  make 
his  walk  through  life  respectable  and  happy, 
than  those  more  striking  and  splendid  quali- 
ties, which  are  for  ever  in  the  extremes  of 
honour  or  disgrace. — Adieu.  I  shall  be  curi- 


148 

ous  to  hear  of  the  progress  you  make  in  the 
thorny  paths  of  contrition,  and  whether  the 
fruits  of  it  will  be  adequate  to  the  humiliating 
penalties  you  must  have  undergone. 
I  am,  with  great  regard, 

Your's,  &c. 


149 


LETTER  XXXFI. 


MY  DEAR    SIR, 

I  SINCERELY  lament  with  you  the  death 
of  Dr.  Goldsmith,  as  a  very  considerable  loss 
to  the  learned,  the  laughing,  and  the  senti- 
mental world.  His  versatile  genius  was  capa- 
ble of  producing  satisfaction  to  persons  of  all 
these  varying  denominations.  But  I  shall, 
without  hesitation,  combat  the  opinion  which 
you  derive  from  the  insolvent  state  in  which 
he  died,  that  genius  and  talents  meet  with  an 
ungrateful  return  from  mankind,  and  are  gen- 
erally seen  to  struggle  with  continual  and  in- 
superable difficulties.  Plautus  is  related  to 
have  turned  a  mill,  Boethius  died  in  a  gaol, 
Tasso  was  in  constant  distress,  Cervantes 
died  of  hunger,  and  our  Otway  from  too  ea- 
ger an  indulgence  of  that  appetite :  Camoens 
ended  his  days  in  an  hospital,  and  Vaugelas 
left  his  body  to  the  surgeons  to  pay  his  debts 
as  far  as  it  would  go.  I  could  fill  my  paper 
with  a  melancholy  detail  of  genius  in  misfor- 


tune ;  but  it  would  require  a  volume  of  no 
common  size  to  examine  into  the  causes  of 
such  an  affecting  branch  of  human  distress : 
and  if  a  work  of  that  nature  were  to  be  com- 
posed, it  would  prove  no  more  than  what  we 
already  know,  that  genius  is  not  exempt  from 
human  failings,  and  frequently  possesses  them 
in  a  degree  superiour  to  ordinary  talents  and 
common  dulness.  An  improvident  spirit  and 
disdain  of  reflection  are  no  uncommon  attri- 
butes of  that  character;  and  I  need  not  in- 
form a  child  of  ten  years  old,  that  the  dullest 
Rosinante,  who  keeps  on  his  way,  will  soon- 
er arrive  at  his  destined  end,  than  the  fleetest 
courser  of  Newmarket,  who  has  taken  a  dif- 
ferent direction. 

An  unenlightened  and  barbarous  age  may 
deny  bread  to  men  of  understanding ;  but  we 
have  the  happiness  to  live  in  the  full  blaze  of 
reason  and  knowledge.  At  this  period,  the 
man  of  genius,  as  well  as  the  less  learned 
character,  is  equally  the  framer  of  his  own 
fortune  ;  and  it  must  arise  from  some  inherent 
deficiency  in  both,  when  the  means  of  com- 
fortable existence,  to  say  no  more,  are  remote 
from  them.  This  age  is  the  most  favourable 
that  has  ever  been  known  in  the  annals  of 
time,  for  men  of  genius,  talents,  and  skill,  in 


151 

any  and  every  branch  of  science  and  art.    To 
come  home,   however,  to  your  subject,   tell 
me,  I  beg  of  you,  in  what  respect   Doctor 
Goldsmith  was  neglected.     As  soon  as  his 
talents  were  known,  the  publick  discovered  a 
ready  disposition  to  reward  them ;  nor  did  he 
ever  produce  the  fruits  of  them  in  vain.     His 
mode  of  life  is  generally  known ;  the  profits 
of  his  labours  are  no  secret ;  and  the  patron- 
age, beneath  which  he,  some  time,  flourished, 
is  a  matter  of  publick  notoriety :    nor  shall  I 
swerve  from  truth  in  the  declaration,  that  he 
was  encouraged  equal  to  his  merits,  whatever 
they  may  have  been;  and  that  the  publick 
were  ready  to  increase  their  favour  in  propor- 
tion to  his  exertions.     Ask  your  book-seller 
what  Doctor  Goldsmith  did  acquire,  and  what 
he  might  have  acquired,  by  his  writings :  con- 
tinue the  question  with  respect  to  the  manner 
in  which  many  of  them  were  produced,  and 
what  was  the  spring  which  generally  set  his 
talents  in  motion.    The  respective  replies  will 
be   sufficient  to  convince  you,  that,  if  your 
favourite   author  died  in  poverty,  it  was  be- 
cause he  had  not  discretion  enough  to  be  rich. 
A  rigid  obedience  to  the  scripture  command 
of  Take  no  thought  for  to-morrow,  with  an  os- 
tentatious impatience  of  coin,  and  an  unrc- 


152 

fleeting  spirit  of  benevolence,  occasioned  the 
difficulties  of  his  life,  and  the  insolvency  of 
its  end.  He  might  have  blessed  himself  with 
art  happy  independence,  enjoyed,  without  in- 
terruption, every  wish  of  a  wise  man,  secur- 
ed an  ample  provision  for  his  advanced  age,  if 
he  had  attained  it,  and  have  made  a  respecta- 
ble last  will  and  testament ;  and  all  this,  with- 
out rising  up  early  or  sitting  up  late,  if  com- 
mon sense  had  been  added  to  his  other  attain- 
ments. Such  a  man  is  awakened  into  the  ex- 
ertion of  his  faculties  but  by  the  impulse  of 
some  sense  which  demands  enjoyment,  or 
some  passion  which  cries  aloud  for  gratifica- 
tion ;  by  the  repeated  menace  of  a  creditor, 
or  the  frequent  dun  at  his  gate  :  nay,  should 
the  necessity  of  to-day  be  relieved,  the  pro- 
crastinated labour  will  wait  for  the  necessity 
of  to-morrow ;  and,  if  death  should  overtake 
him  in  the  interval,  it  must  find  him  a  beg- 
gar, and  the  age  is  to  be  accused  of  obdura- 
cy in  suffering  genius  to  die  for  want!  If 
Pope  had  been  a  debauchee,  he  would  have 
lived  in  a  garret,  nor  enjoyed  the  Attick  ele- 
gance of  his  villa  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames. 
If  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had  been  idle  and 
drunken,  he  might,  at  this  hour,  have  been 
acquiring  a  scanty  and  precarious  mainte- 


153 

nance  by  painting  coach  pannels  and  Birming- 
ham tea-boards.  Had  not  David  Hume  pos- 
sessed the  invariable  temper  of  his  country, 
he  might  have  been  the  actual  master  of  a 
school  in  the  Hebrides  ;  and  the  inimitable  Gar- 
rick,  if  he  had  possessed  Shuter's  character, 
would  have  acquired  little  more  than  Shuter's 
fame,  and  suffered  Shuter's  end.  Name  me 
a  man  of  genius  in  our  days,  who,  if  he  has 
been  destitute  of  independence,  had  a  right 
to  complain  of  any  one  but  himself.  You 
may  tell  me  that  Lloyd  died  in  a  gaol ;  and  I 
believe,  from  every  thing  that  I  have  heard 
of  that  very  ingenious  gentleman,  that  his 
fate  would  have  been  the  same,  if  he  had 
been  born  to  the  inheritance  of  an  ample  for- 
tune. You  will  add,  perhaps,  the  name  of 
your  very  learned  friend  Morell.  He  certain- 
ly deserves  well  of,  and  is  esteemed  by,  the 
learned  world  ;  but  the  acute  critick  and  pro- 
found grammarian  seems  to  be  impelled  rath- 
er by  the  love  of  science,  than  the  desire  of 
gain — is  generally  in  the  habit  of  frugal  con- 
tentment, and  hides  himself  in  that  shade  of 
retirement,  where  the  learned  few  alone  can 
find  him.  I  am,  however,  entirely  of  your 
opinion,  that  he  merits  a  less  restrained  situ- 
ation than  he  possesses ;  and  I  agree  with 

u 


154 

you  in  not  forgiving  Doctor  B —  —  for  a 
breach  of  justice  in  opposing  his  election  to  a 
fellowship  at  Eton.  Such  a  promotion  would 
have  been  a  suitable  reward  for  his  labours, 
and  have  afforded  him  that  ample  independ- 
ence, and  learned  retreat,  which  would  have 

left  his  closing  life  without  a  wish.     B 

was  the  most  able  school-master  that  ever 
grasped  the  birch ;  and  I  am  sorry  he  should 
disgrace  his  succeeding  and  higher  office,  by 
opposing,  as  you  tell  me,  more  than  once, 
the  entrance  of  a  man  into  his  college,  the 
circumstances  of  whose  life  and  character 
gave  him  so  fair  a  claim  to  the  preferment 
which  he  solicited.  But  this  ill  treatment  of 
your  friend — for  I  think  it  such — is  not  ap- 
plicable to  the  age,  but  to  the  folly  of  a  vain 
man,  who  finds  a  consolation  for  his  disap- 
pointed ambition  in  the  despotick  sway  of  a 
college,  wherein  he  will  not  suffer  a  man  to 
enter,  whose  character  announces  the  least 
gleam  of  an  independent  spirit. 

Learning  and  fine  talents  must  be  respect- 
ed and  valued  in  all  enrightened  ages  and  na- 
tions ;  nay,  they  have  been  known  to  awaken 
a  most  honourable  veneration  in  the  breasts  of 
men  accustomed  to  spoil,  and  wading  through 
blood  to  glory.  An  Italian  robber  not  only 


155 

refused  the  rich  booty  of  a  caravan,  but  con- 
ducted it  under  his  safeguard,  when  he  was  in- 
formed that  Tasso  accompanied  it.  The  great 
Duke  of  Marlborough,  at  the  siege  of  Cam- 
bray,  gave  particular  orders,  that  the  lands, 
&c.  of  the  admired  Fenelon,  Archbishop  of 
the  diocese,  should  not  be  profaned  by  the 
violence  of  war.  Csesar,  the  ambitious  Cae- 
sar, acknowledged  Tultys  superiour  charac- 
ter ;  for  that  the  Roman  orator  had  enlarged 
the  limits  of  human  knowledge,  while  he  had 
only  extended  those  of  his  country.  But  to 
proceed  one  step  higher, 

The  great  Emathian  Conquerour  bid  spare 

The  House  of  Pindams,  when  Temple  and  Tcrw'r 

Went  to  the  ground. 

Rest  then  assured,  my  friend,  when  a  man 
of  learning  and  talents  does  not,  in  this  very 
remunerative  age,  find  encouragement,  pro- 
tection, and  independence,  that  such  an  un- 
natural circumstance  must  arise  from  some 
concomitant  failings  which  render  his  labours 
obnoxious,  or,  at  least,  of  no  real  utility. — 
Adieu,  my  dear  Sir.  A  long  letter  may  ad- 
mit of  excuse  -on  a  subject  which  would  fill  a 
large  volume. 

I  am,  with  truth, 
Your  faithful,  humble  servant. 


156 


LETTER 


INDEED,  my  dear  friend,  you  mistake 
the  matter :   Irony  is  not  my  talent,  and  B — 

says  I  have  too  much  impudence  to  make 

use  of  it.  It  is  a  fine  rhetorical  figure  ;  and  if 
there  were  a  chance  of  attaining  the  manner  in 
which  Junius  has  employed  it,  its  cultivation 
would  be  worth  my  attention.  But  you  add 
an  harsh  injustice  to  real  errour,  when  you 
suppose  that  I  have  employed  any  powers  of 
raillery.  I  may  possess  on  the  subject  of  Her 
Most  Excellent  Majesty.  I  recollect  the  con- 
versation which  produced  this  report  to  my 
disadvantage,  and,  if  it  were  true,  to  my  dis- 
honour. I  can  easily  despise  the  malice  of 
those  who  understand  and  misrepresent  me  ; 
but  that  ignorance  which  both  misunderstands 
and  misrepresents  is  mortifying  in  the  extreme. 
I  should  really  think  it  little  less  than  blasphemy 
to  speak  ill  of  a  Princess  who  deserves  so  well. 
The  Queen  does  honour  to  the  British  Throne ; 
she  has  a  right  to  the  place  she  possesses  in  the 
breast  of  every  reflecting  Englishman  ;  and  it 


157 

has  ever  been  my  opinion,  that  her  character 
unites  the  royal  virtues  of  her  station  with  the 
most  amiable  qualifications  of  her  sex.  Nor 
have  I  ever  been  disposed  to  speak  unfavour- 
ably of  the  ladies  who  attend  her  person,  or 
compose  her  suit.  There  are,  I  must  own, 
half  a  dozen  figures  of  her  household  who  are 
objects  of  my  pity ;  and  the  strain  of  commis- 
eration which  broke  from  me  on  their  subjects, 
has  been  represented,  I  find,  as  a  contemptu- 
ous raillery  of  their  Royal  Mistress.  My  mem- 
ory will  serve  me,  I  believe,  to  recollect  the 
general  tenour  of  niy  discourse  on  the  occa- 
sion, which  I  shall  offer  to  your  candid  inter- 
pretation. 

The  Dowager  Lady   Townshend,   as  you 
well  know,    divides  the   human  species  into 

men,  women,  and  h ;  and  where  is  the 

crime,  if  I  parody  on  her  ladyship's  logick, 
and  apply  it  to  the  division  of  her  Majesty's 
houshold  into  men,  women,  and  maids  of  hon- 
our ?  Nor  will  it  be  difficult  to  justify  this 
new  line  of  distinction,  if  we  consider  the  pe- 
culiar offices  which  compose  the  duty,  and  the 
singular  privileges  which  reward  the  service, 
of  these  courtly  virgins. 

To  make  up,  at  least,  two  court  suits  in  a 
year ;  to  dance  vis  many  court  minuets  in  the 


158 

same  space  ;  to  sidle,  on  days  of  duty,  through 
the  presence-chambers,  at  the  tail  of  a  royal 
procession  ;  to  take  her  place  in  an  established 
corner  of  the  drawing-room ;  to  say  yes,  Sir, 
or  no,  Sir,  and  courtesy,  when  she  is  noticed 
by  the  King;  to  say  yes,  Madam,  and  no, 
Madam,  and  courtesy,  when  the  Queen  does 
her  the  same  honour ;  to  make  an  occasional 
one  of  six  large  hoops  in  a  royal  coach,  and 
to  aid  the  languor  of  an  easy  party  in  a  side- 
box  at  a  royal  play ;  compose  the  principal  la- 
bours of  a  maid  of  honour's  life.  But  they 
are  not  without  their  rewards.  A  moderate 
salary,  and  a  thousand  pounds  when  Miss  gets 
an  husband ;  an  apartment  in  a  palace,  and  I 
believe  a  dinner  from  a  royal  kitchen  ;  in  the 
rotation  of  six  weeks,  a  seven  days'  possession 
of  a  royal  coach,  a  royal  coachman,  and  a 
shabby  pair  of  royal  horses,  for  the  purpose 
of  shopping  in  the  city,  paying  distant  visits, 
airing  in  the  King's  road,  and  the  being  set 
down  at  the  very  gate  of  Kensington  Gardens, 
while  women  of  the  first  fashion  are  obliged 
to  trip  it  o'er  an  hundred  yards  of  greensward 
between  their  coaches  and  the  place  of  admit- 
tance ;  to  take  place  of  Baronets'  daughters ; 
to  go  to  plays,  operas,  and  oratorios,  gratis  ; 
to  have  physicians  without  fees,  and  medi- 


159 

cines  without  an  apothecary's  bill ;  to  chat 
with  Lords  and  grooms  of  the  bed-chamber 
around  the  fire  of  an  anti-chamber ;  to  stroke 
the  beardless  face  of  a  new-made  page  ;  and, 
perhaps,  to  receive  an  Heir-Apparent's  first 
effort  at  flirtation  ;  constitute  the  various  priv- 
ileges of  a  maid  of  honour. 

This  brief  history,  my  dear  friend,  you  well 
know  to  be  founded  in  fact,  and  will,  therefore, 
be  ready  to  applaud  the  tender  pity  I  feel  for 
these  virgin  automatons.  I  have  never  seen 
them  bringing  up  the  rear  of  a  royal  train,  but 
each  of  them  has  appeared  to  bear,  in  legible 
characters,  on  her  forehead,  Who  will  marry 
me  ?  Nevertheless,  upon  the  most  favourable 
average,  not  one  in  three  years,  during  the 
present  reign,  has  been  rewarded  by  Hymen  ; 
which,  in  their  particular  situation,  is  as  pit- 
iable a  circumstance  as  can  be  found  in  the 
long  catalogue  of  female  mortifications.  A  la- 
dy of  the  bed-chamber  is  obliged  only  to  a 
partial  duty ;  and,  during  the  short  period  of 
her  attendance,  is,  in  some  degree,  the  com- 
panion of  her  royal  Mistress  ;  while  the  vir- 
gins of  honour  are  not  admitted,  as  I  have 
been  informed,  to  stick  a  pin  in  a  royal  hand- 
kerchief. Even  the  women  of  the  same  de- 
partment figure  only  in  her  Majesty's  cast-off 


160 

gowns  on  royal  birth-days  ;  but  these  poor 
persecuted  damsels  are  the  common  hackneys 
of  drawing-room  parade  :  whether  ill  or  wellj 
in  humour  or  out  of  humour,  by  day-light  or 
by  candle-light,  they  are  obliged,  through 
three  parts  of  the  year,  to  be  on  the  continual 
stretch  of  state -official  exhibition. 

I  remember,  \vhen  I  was  little  more  than  a 
boy,  to  have  seen  a  young  lady  in  training  for 
this  important  office  ;  and  the  whole  of  that 
serious  business  consisted  in  nothing  more 
than  a  practical  lecture  upon  entrances  and 
exits,  the  language  of  courtisies,  and  the  art 
of  conducting  a  large  hoop  in  all  modes  and 
forms  of  possible  pliancy.  I  laughed  then  as 
boys  laugh,  and  had  some  unlucky  thoughts 
in  my  head  which  were  not  arrived  at  maturi- 
ty :  at  this  period,  I  would  willingly  give  an 
opera-subscription  to  be  present  at  a  similar 
exercise. 

After  this  manner  did  I  treat  the  honoura- 
ble subject  of  her  Majesty's  honourable  vir- 
gins ;  and  little  did  I  think  that  it  would  beget 
a  long  admonitory  epistle'  from  you,  to  warn 
me  against  speaking  evil  of  dignities.  My  wit, 
such  as  it  is,  has  never  directed  a  single  glance 
at  the  Throne  ;  and  I  have  received  the  wel- 
come testimony  of  your  applause,  more  than 


161 

once,  for  exerting  the  full  force  of  my  under- 
standing to  support  the  wishes  of  it.  You  have 
my  ready  leave,  my  dear  friend,  to  laugh  with 
me,  and  at  me — to  reprove  and  to  admonish 
me  ;  but  I  must  entreat  you  to  relax  your 
proneness  to  believe  every  idle  tale  which  is 
fabricated  to  my  dishonour. 

I  am,  &c. 


w 


163 


LETTER  XXXFIIL 


YOUR  usual  accuracy  has  failed  you  in 
your  suggestions  concerning  the  rise  and  rap- 
id progress  of  Mr.  D t's  fortune.  The 

history  of  that  gentleman's  advancement  to  his 
present  affluence,  if  my  immediate  recollection 
does  not  fail  me,  is  as  follows. 

That  he  was  appointed  to  his  first  employ- 
ment in  the  service  of  government  by  my  fa- 
ther's interest  is  true ;  and  it  may,  perhaps, 
have  been  procured  for  him  from  the  motives 
which  current  opinion  has   assigned :  but  of 
this  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  better  informed 
than  the  rest  of  the  world.     Thus  placed  in  a 
situation  of  little  or  no  leisure,  he  was  left,  I 
believe,  by  our  family-patronage,  to  look  for 
any  future  promotion  from  his  own  industry, 
the  chance  of  succession,  or  the  casual  boon 
of  fortune.     The  latter  was  disposed  to  smile 
upon  him,  or,  it  may  be  said  with  more  pro- 
priety, to  reward  the  prudent  modesty  with 
which  he  retreated  from  her  first  advances, 
to  secure  her  greater  favours.     In  the  usual 


163 

course  of  promotion,  he  had  ah  acknowledged 
claim  to  succeed  to  a  vacant  place  of  no  incon- 
siderable profit.  Oh  this  occasion,  Lord  Hol- 
land, for  some  particular  reason  which  I  have 
forgotten,  or  perhaps  never  heard,  wished  to 
make  an  irregular  appointment  in  favour  of 
some  other  person ;  and,  to  comply  with  his 

Lordship's  wishes,  Mr.  D wisely  waved 

his  right  of  succession.  That  Nobleman,  who 
never  suffered  a  good  office  to  be  long  unre- 
turned,  soon  after  procured  him  to  be  named 
Commissary-General  to  the  expedition  then 
preparing  to  attack  the  French  West-India 
Islands.  The  success  which  attended  it,  to- 
gether with  the  regular  profits  of  his  appoint- 
ment, placed  him  in  a  situation,  with  respect 
to  fortune,  with  which,  it  may  be  imagined, 
he  was  more  than  satisfied ;  and  I  have  been 
told  that  he  then  looked  no  farther.  But 
Lord  Holland  never  thought  he  did  enough 
for  any  one  that  had  obliged  him ;  and  I  am 
greatly  mistaken,  if  his  influence  did  not  name 

Mr.  D to  the  same  employment  in  the 

formidable  armament  which  was  sent  against 
the  Havannah,  and  succeeded.  The  fortunes 
acquired  by  that  capture  are  well  known,  and 

Mr.  D t's  was  among  the  largest  of  them. 

On  his  return  to  England,  he  soon  began  to 


164 

display  a  love  of  ostentation,  which  he  indulg- 
ed, however,  as  I  understand,  without  injur- 
ing his  fortune ;  for  though  George  has  no 
small  share  of  vanity,  it  has  seldom  operated 
so  far  as  to  make  him  inattentive  to  the  sum- 
mum  bonum  of  life.  He  built  a  fine  house  in 
Portman-square,  and  purchased  the  very  cap- 
ital estate  of  Tong-Castle,  in  Shropshire,  of 
the  Duke  of  Kingston.  He  immediately  re- 
newed, or  rather  improved,  the  ancient  form 
of  the  decayed  edifice,  adorned  with  the  ven- 
erable decorations  of  Gothick  architecture, 
beautified  its  surrounding  lawns,  and  con- 
ducted through  them  a  long  extent  of  fine 
water,  which  flows  on  three  sides  of  the  state- 
ly edifice.  The  castle  is  a  very  large  build- 
ing, contains  many  very  capacious  apartments, 
and  is  furnished  with  a  profusion  of  pictures 
and  splendid  upholstery.  Though  it  is  not 
situated  in  a  fine  part  of  the  country,  yet,  tak- 
en in  all  its  circumstances,  it  may  lay  no  small 
claim  to  the  character  of  magnificence.  The 
owner  of  it  might  have  built  a  new  and  more 
commodious  house  for  much  less  money  than 
has  been  expended  in  the  reparations  of  the 
old  one :  but  the  word  castle  is  a  sounding 

word  ;    it  was  in  unison  with  Mr.  D t's 

notions  of  grandeur;  and,  apprehensive  that 


165 

this  favourite  title  might,  by  degrees,  be  for- 
gotten with  the  lofty  turrets  and  stately  bat- 
tlements, he  resolved  to  clothe  them  in  more 
than  pristine  grandeur,  and  thus  secure  their 
ancient,  honourable  name,  till  time  or  chance 
should  destroy  them  for  ever.  Some  of  my 
old  neighbours  positively  assert,  that  they  re- 
member to  have  heard  George  D de- 
clare, when  he  was  a  youth,  that  he  hoped, 
one  day  or  other,  to  be  possessed  of  a  larger 
house  than  Hagley ;  and  they  insist  upon  it 
that  he  gives  such  great  extent  to  the  limits  of 
Tang-Castle^  merely  to  fulfil  his  own  predic- 
tion. But  this  by  the  way — the  world  in 
general,  who  are  not  acquainted  with  the  am- 
bition of  his  early  days,  have  thought,  that, 
by  this  creation  of  splendour,  he  hoped  to 
allure  some  lady  of  noble  birth  and  great  con- 
nexions to  become  the  mistress  of  it.  The 
bait  offered  by  so  handsome  a  man  as  he  cer- 
tainly is,  would,  in  all  probability,  have  been 
soon  taken,  but,  in  this  particular,  expecta- 
tion has  been  very  much  disappointed ;  for 
he  has  actually  made  a  kind  of  half-runaway 
match  with  a  little  Quaker  of  eighteen  years 
of  age,  and  educated  in  all  the  rigour  of  her 
sect.  She  has  no  pretensions  to  beauty — I 
write  merely  from  information — but  possesses 


a  very  agreeable  person,  with  a  most  amiable 
simplicity,  and  loves  her  husband  to  idolatry. 
I  have  heard  your  friend,  Counsellor  Day* 
speak  in  high  terms  of  her  father,  as  a  man 
of  excellent  understanding,  polite  manners, 
and  generous  dispositions.  Since  this  mar- 
riage, the  superb  service  of  plate  very  sel- 
dom makes  its  appearance ;  and  the  master  of 
the  noble  castle,  as  I  am  told,  now  lives  in  a 
corner  of  it,  with  a  small  party  of  his  re  la* 
tions,  and  seems  to  be  growing  into  a  disre- 
gard of  the  intrigues  and  fashions  of  publick 
life.  His  brother  is  the  parson  of  my  parish, 
and  is  called  Doctor  John;  but  the  Divine 
and  the  Squire  do  not  hold  a  very  friendly  in- 
tercourse. 

I  rather  think  that  this  little  piece  of  biog- 
raphy is  pretty  well  founded :  if,  however,  it 
should  possess  any  errours,  which  may  be  the 
case,  I  beg  leave  to  assure  you  that  they  are 

hot  of  my  invention.     As  to  Mr.  D t's 

unpopularity  with  the  Lyttleton  family,  it  does 
hot  arise,  perhaps,  from  what  you  and  the 
world  may,  with  some  reason,  suppose ;  but 
from  a  subsequent  circumstance,  of  which 
you,  and  the  world,  are,  in  general,  igno- 
rant. When  my  —  - —  was  Governour  of  J — 
,  he  received  positive  orders  to  raise  and 


167 

discipline  a  regiment  of  Negroes  for  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Havannah  expedition.  As  this 
supply  did  not  join  the  grand  armament  at 
the  time  appointed,  Mr.  D 1  was  dispatch- 
ed to  Jamaica,  by  the  Commander  in  Chief, 
to  chide  the  tardy  levies ;  and,  as  report  says, 
he  found  a  very  surprizing  languor  in  obey- 
ing these  very  important  orders  of  govern- 
ment. On  such  an  occasion,  he  was,  per- 
haps, instructed  to  threaten  an  accusation  of 
delinquency  against  the  Governour  to  the 
powers  at  home ;  and  it  is  equally  prpbable, 
that  he  did  not  forget  his  instructions.  Wheth- 
er this  neglect  was  repaired  by  subsequent  exT 
ertions,  or  whether  it  was  forgotten  in  the  suc- 
cesses which  followed,  I  do  not  know ;  but  I 
very  well  remember,  that,  at  the  time,  my  fa- 
ther was  very  uneasy  about  it  and  complain- 
ed, in  angry  terms,  to  the  clergyman  of  Hag- 
ley,  of  his  brother's  forwardness  to  disgrace 
a  branch  of  that  family  by  which  his  own  had 
been  so  warmly  protected.  Here- the  matter 
rested ;  but  that  George  D— .  — t  should  have 
been  elevated  to  a  situation,  wherein  he  could 
repeat  what  was  called  an  insolent  menace  to 
one  of  the  Lyltlcton  family,  wiU  never^be  re- 
memberecfc  without  much  mortification >  and, 
therefore,  can  never  be  forgiven. Adieu. 


168 


LETTER  XXXIX. 


MUCH  of  the  disputes,  and  consequent- 
ly many  of  the  inconveniencies,  of  this  world, 
arise  from  the  strange  difficulty  (for  a  strange 
one  it  is)  that  men  find  in  understanding  each 
other's  meaning.  Hence  the  never-ending 
game  of  cross-purposes,  in  which  all  of  us, 
at  times,  are  so  much  engaged.  A  leading 
cause  of  this  disunion  is  a  negligence  in  us- 
ing terms  appropriate  to  their  object.  The 
philosopher,  it  is  true,  must  generalize  his 
ideas  to  compass  the  views  of  his  enquiring 
mind.  It  is  by  such  an  application  of  his  in- 
tellectual faculties,  that  he  surmounts  such  a 
variety  of  obstacles ;  that  he  passes  from  in- 
dividual man  to  an  whole  people ;  from  a 
people,  to  the  human  race ;  from  the  time  in 
which  he  lives,  to  the  ages  that  are  to  come ; 
from  what  he  sees  to  that  which  is  invisible. 
But  in  conveying  the  fruits  of  his  study  and 
reflection  to  others,  he  must  condescend  to 
weigh  words,  compare  terms,  and  preclude 
all  possibility  of  errour  in  those  he  instructs. 


by  using  a  simplicity  of  definition,  a  perspi- 
cuity of  expression,  and,  where  the  barren- 
ness  of  language  denies  the  immediate  term, 
a  neatness  of  periphrase  which  not  only  in- 
vites but  creates  conception. 

You  are  pleased,  in  your  last  letter,  to 
charge  the  present  age  with  the  crime  of 
skepticism ;  and  you  have  abandoned  your- 
self to  a  more  than  common  energy  on  the 
subject.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  J  do  not  veiy 
clearly  perceive  the  tendency  of  your  accusa- 
tion.  If  it  alludes  to  religion,  you  would,  I 
think,  find  some  difficulty  to  maintain  your 
position :  if  it  should  glance  at  politicks,  our 
national  submission  is  certainly  against  you: 
or,  leaving  the  higher  concerns  of  the  world, 
if  you  should  apply  your  assertion  to  the  or- 
dinary intercourse  and  common  transactions 
between  man  and  man,  you  are  truly  unfor- 
tunate, as  an  extreme  Gullibility  seems  to  be 
one  of  the  leading  features  of  the  present 
times.  The  age  in  which  we  live  does  not 
possess  so  great  a  share,  as  former  centuries, 
of  that  faith  which  is  able  to  remove  moun- 
tains :  blind  credulity,  by  the  insults  it  so 
long  offered  to  reason,  has  in  a  great  meas- 
ure destroyed  itself,  or  is  rather  become  mod- 
ified into  that  sobriety  of  belief  which  is  con* 


170 

sistent  with  a  rational  being.  The  gaudy, 
awful,  and  presuming  phantom  of  Papal  au- 
thority, has  long  begun  to  disappear:  that 
blazing  meteor,  which  for  so  many  ages  daz- 
zled the  superstitious  world,  verges  towards 
the  horizon,  and  grows  pale  before  the  stea- 
dy, embodied  light  of  liberal,  unimpeded  sci- 
ence. But  I  cannot  believe,  although  luxury 
and  dissipation  with  their  concomitant  de- 
pravities have  made  such  enormous  strides 
among  the  higher  orders,  that  infidelity  in  re- 
ligious matters  is  a  leading  characteristick  of 
our  times.  If  we  tum  from  the  church  to  the 
state,  the  firm  confidence  of  a  very  great  ma- 
jority of  the  people  in  a  government,  which, 
I  am  forced  to  confess,  does  not  possess  all 
the  wisdom  that  such  a  government  ought  to 
possess,  is  a  circumstance,  which,  were  I  to 
enlarge  upon  it,  you  would  be  perplexed  to 
answer.  In  the  ordinary  transactions  of  life, 
the  wantonness  of  commercial  credit  is  well 
prepared  to  give  the  lie  direct  to  any  charge 
of  incredulity.  Ask  Foley,  Charles  Fox,  and 
a  thousand  others,  what  they  think  of  mod- 
ern infidelity ;  and  they  will  tell  you,  that  the 
Jeius  themselves,  that  unbelieving  race,  have 
deserted  from  the  standard  of  skepticism,  and, 
having  borne  the  stigma  of  spiritual  unbelief, 


171 

for  upwards  of  seventeen  hundred  years,  are 
at  this  moment  groaning  beneath  the  effects 
of  temporal  credulity. 

Credula  turba  sumus — We  are  a  credulous 
race  of  beings ;  and  the  most  steady  profes- 
sors of  skepticism  are  deceived  by  others,  and 
deceive  themselves,  every  hour  of  the  day. 
Religion,  which  commands,  among  its  evi- 
dent truths,  the  belief  of  matters  which  we 
cannot  entirely  comprehend,  will  sometimes 
so  habituate  the  mind  of  its  submissive  disci- 
ple to  acts  of  faith,  that  he  does  not  know 
how  to  withhold  his  assent  to  the  most  im- 
probable fictions  of  human  fancy ;  and  the 
Credo  quia  impossibile  est  of  Tertullian  is  read- 
ily adopted  by  his  yielding  piety.  I  shall  con- 
firm the  truth  of  this  observation  by  a  story 
which  I  have  heard  related,  and  is  not  more 
extraordinary  in  its  nature  than  the  tone, 
look,  and  language  of  belief  which  accompa- 
nied the  relation.  A  traveller,  benighted  in 
a  wild  and  .mountainous  country,  (if  my  re- 
collection does  not  fail  me,  in  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland,)  at  length  beholds  the  welcome 
light  of  a  neighbouring  habitation.  He  urg- 
es his  horse  towards  it ;  when,  instead  of  an 
house,  he  approached  a  kind  of  illuminated 
chapel,  from  whence  issued  the  most  alarming 


172 

sounds  he  had  ever  heard.     Though  greatly 
surprised  and  terrified,  he  ventured  to  look 
through  a  window  of  the  building,  when  he 
was  amazed  to  see  a  large  assembly  of  cats, 
who,  arranged  in  solemn  order,  were  lament- 
ing over  the  corpse  of  one  of  their  own  spe- 
cies, which  lay  in  state,  and  was  surrounded 
with  the  various  emblems  of  sovereignty. — 
Alarmed  and  terrified  at  this  extraordinary 
spectacle,  he  hastened  from  the  place   with 
greater  eagerness  than  he  approached  it ;  and 
arriving,  some  time  after,  at  the  house  of  a 
gentleman  who  never   turned  the  wanderer 
from  his  gate,   the  impressions  of  what  he 
had  seen  were  so  visible  on  his  countenance, 
that  his  friendly  host  enquired  into  the  cause 
of  his  anxiety.     He  accordingly  told  his  sto- 
ry, and,  having  finished  it,  a  large  family  cat, 
who  had  lain,  during  the  narrative,  before  the 
nre,  immediately  started  up,  and  very  articu- 
lately exclaimed,  "  Then  I  am  King  of  the 
Cats  /"    and,  having  thus  announced  its  new 
dignity,   the  animal  darted   up  the  chimney 
and  was  seen  no  more. 

Now,  the  man,  who  seriously  repeated  this 
strange  and  singular  history,  was  a  peer  of 
the  realm,  had  been  concerned  in  the  active 
scenes  of  life,  and  was  held  in  high  esteem 


173 

and  veneration  among  mankind  for  his  talents, 
wisdom,  and  Christian  piety.  After  this  in- 
formation, which  I  give  you  as  a  serious  fact, 
what  have  you  to  say  ?  It  is  impossible  but 
you  must  immediately  withdraw  your  charge 
of  infidelity  against  a  period  which  could  pro- 
duce one  such  implicit  believer. 

As  for  myself,  I  will  readily  confess  to  you 
that  I  am  neither  a  skeptick  nor  a  believer. — 
I  have  enough  of  skepticism  to  prevent  the 
throwing  my  share  of  faith  away :  at  the  same 
time  I  feel  within  me  that  there  is  something, 
which  I  cannot  very  well  explain,  the  belief 
whereof  I  ought  to  cultivate,  and  from  whence 
I  should  derive  much  satisfaction  and  content- 
merit,  could  I  but  frame  my  mind  to  the  pur- 
pose. If,  however,  after  all  my  reasoning, 
you  should  still  continue  to  fix  a  skeptical 
character  upon  the  present  age,  I  trust  that 
you  will  at  least  discard  it  from  your  own 
breast,  while  I  assure  you  of  the  great  re- 
gard with  which  I  am 

Your  most  sincere,  humble  servant. 


174 


LETTER  XL. 


MY  DEAR    SIR, 

YOUR  letters  to  me  arc  those  of  friend- 
ship. Under  the  impression  of  this  sentiment, 
I  at  all  times  receive  them:  nevertheless, 
they  are  attended  with  this  disagreeable  cir- 
cumstance, that,  in  my  answers  to  them,  I 
am  so  often  obliged  to  make  myself  the  hero 
of  my  own  tale. 

Your  last  charge  has  a  foundation  in  truth ; 
and  the  persons  whom  you  name  as  being  in 
the  circle  of  my  intimacy,  are  received  at  my 
house,  and  admitted  to  my  table.  You  tell 
me  it  is  not  only  a  dishonour,  but  a  crime,  to 
herd  with  such  men  as  familiar  associates  ;  and 
that  it  is  beneath  a  rational  being  to  receive 
these  outcasts  from  all  other  society  into  mine, 
merely  to  be  flattered  by  their  submission,  to 
have  base  engines  of  my  pleasures,  or  objects 
for  that  raillery  which  will  not  be  returned. — 
It  is  too  true  that  I  cannot  altogether  combat 
the  force  of  these  very  severe  observations ; 


175 

but  let  me  persuade  you  to  bestow  a  small  por- 
tion of  your  leisure  on  the  volume  of  human 
nature,  to  take  a  short  review  of  human  fail- 
ings, and  then  to  cast  your  eye  upon  that  page 
whereon  my  name  is  written.  You  will  there 
discover  that  my  character  is  divided  between 
an  ardent  desire  of  applause,  and  a  more  than 
equal  love  of  pleasure  ;  and,  on  this  discovery, 
your  considerate  regard  will  look  with  less  se- 
verity upon  me.  When  you  have  done  me 
this  justice,  proceed,  I  beseech  you,  one  step 
farther ;  examine  the  world  upon  my  subject, 
and  you  will  know  what  confirmed  prejudices 
it  possesses  against  me ;  that  I  am  the  contin- 
ual victim  of  its  injustice ;  and  that,  not  con- 
tented to  blazon  forth  my  defects  and  follies 
into  a  false,  unnatural  magnitude,  it  seems 
pleased  with  the  malignant  task  of  fabricating 
tales  to  my  dishonour.  Publick  opinion  aims 
at  excluding  me  from  a  familiar  intercourse 
with  men  of  virtuous  life,  and  women  of  chaste 
manners :  so  that,  when  I  appear  even  in  gen- 
eral societies,  mothers  seem  to  be  alarmed  for 
their  daughters,  husbands  for  their  wives,  and 
fathers  for  their  sons  :  nay,  the  very  impures 
of  the  town  have  refused  my  most  generous 
offers,  from  an  apprehension  of  my  capacity 
for  mischief.  I  will  freely  own  that  my  life 


176 

has  been  marked  with  an  extravagance  of  dis- 
sipation ;  but  neither  the  force  of  my  passions, 
Sec.  nor  their  success,  though,  viciously  speak- 
ing, I  might  be  vain  of  the  latter,  can  justify 
these  violent  and  continual  fears  of  me. 

But  let  us  suppose  for  a  moment,  that  this 
most  prodigal  of  all  prodigals  should  meditate 
a  reformation,  and  begin  the  salutary  work 
with  the  favourable  omen  of  shutting  his  doors 
against  those  vagabonds,  to  use  your  own  ex- 
pression, whom  you  accuse  him  of  suffering 
to  enter  them.  If,  in  the  arduous  task  of 
winning  the  forfeited  esteem  of  mankind,  I 
should  begin  with  paying  my  court  to  the  lights 
of  the  church,  and  beg  their  sanction  to  my  in- 
fant repentance,  those  holy  men  would  not  on- 
ly  suspect  the  sincerity  of  my  declarations,  but 
do  my  effrontery  the  credit  to  believe,  that, 
under  the  semblance  of  contrition,  I  was  med- 
itating some  unholy  impertinence  to  the  sac- 
red Lawn.  Permit  me  to  continue  the  singu- 
lar idea,  and  suppose  me  commencing  my 
round  of  episcopal  visits  with  one  of  the 
FIRST  CHARACTERS  of  this  age  and  nation, 
the  present  Bishop  of  London.  After  some 
hesitation  on  the  part  of  my  coachman,  you 
may  imagine  me  at  his  Lordship's  gate,  where 
it  cannot  be  supposed  that  I  should  find  ad- 


177 

r 

mittance.  '  But  this  is  not  all.  Mrs.  Lowth 
would  probably  throw  my  visiting  card  into 
the  fire,  and  forbid  the  porter  to  enter  my 
name  in  his  book ;  while  the  Right  Reverend 
Prelate  would  determine  to  take  the  opportu- 
nity of  some  debate  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
wherein  I 'Alight  be  engaged,  to  satisfy  his  po- 
liteness as  a  gentleman,  by  leaving  his  name 
at  my  door,  without  any  apprehension  of  be- 
ing admitted  within  it.  What!  would  you 
have  me  wander  a  solitary  being  through  the 
world,  too  bad  for  the  good,  and  too  good  for 
the  bad?  My  whole  nature  shudders  at  the 
idea,  and  I  should  perish  in  the  attempt.  I 
love  superiority,  flattery,  and1  ease;  and  the 
society  which  you  condemn  affords  the  three-* 
fold  gratification.  You  will  tell  me  that  it  con- 
sists of  dishonourable  men:  in  the  common 
sense  of  the  term  you  may  be  right;  but  did- 
cibus  abundant  vitiis  ;  and,  as  bad  instruments, 
in  the  hands  of  agreeable  performers,  make  a 
pleasant  concert,  so  these  characters  compose 
an  amusing  society.  With  them  I  am  under 
no  restraint :  they  know  the  history  of  the  day : 
some  of  them,  also,  are  well  accomplished  j 
and,  while  they  play  upon  one  another,  I  can 
play  upon  them  all.  Besides,  coffee  may  be 

ordered  at  whatever  hour  I  please  without  an 

y 


178 

opposing  look  ;  and  while  I  confer  honour,  1 
enjoy  convenience. 

You  will,  perhaps,  be  disposed  to  enquire 
if  I  think  it  worthy  of  me,  in. the  phrase  of  vul- 
gar tongues,  to  enjoy  the  character  of  king  of 
the  company.  The  love  of  rule,  my  clear  sir, 
is,  more -or  less,  the  inmate  of  every  breast : 
k  is  allied  to  all  the  pre-eminent  virtues,  and 
the  greatest  men  have  owed  their  greatness  to 

it.     Ctcsar  declared  that  the  first  office  of  a  vil- 

- 

lage  was  preferable  to  the  second  station  in  the 
Roman  world.  Whittjidd,  I  believe,  would  not 
have  exxhanged  his  tabernacle  for  a  metropol- 
itan, diocese  ;  Zinzcndorjf\  amid  the  submis- 
sion of  his  Moravian  followers,  looked  down 
with  pity  on  despotick  empire  ;  nor,  in  the 
government  of  my.  pandemonium,  do  I  envy  all 
the  didactick  honours  of  your  lyceum. 

It  may -be  an  opinion  which  proceeds  from 
a  dissolute  refinement,  but  it  is  mine — that 
pleasure  is  not  pleasure,  if  difficulties  are  ne- 
cessary to  its  enjoyment.  I  wish,  as  it  were, 
to  have  it  brought  home  to  me,  without  my 
stirring-  across  the  threshhold.  My  taste  for 
gratification  is  like  their  piety  who  erect  chap- 
els in  their  houses  :  it  makes  a  domestick 
priesthood  necessary  to  me  ;  and,  while  the 
persons  who  compose  it  arc  zealous  in  t1 


179 

functions,  I  shall  look  no  farther.  The  cir- 
cumstances of  my  past  life  have  produced  the 
colour  of  the  present  moment ;  a  future  period 
may  receive  another  hue.  The  events  of  ev- 
ery passing  hour,  in  characters  such  as  mine, 
as  well  as  in  others  which  are  supposed  to  be 
much  better,  must  furnish  the  tints.  Experi- 
ence may  do  something  in  my  favour;  your 
friendly  oracles  may  do  more  ;  the  calls  of 
publick  duty  may  have  their  effect.  To  con- 
clude, time  and  chance  happen  unto  all  men : 
and,  through  their  influence,  the  hour  may 
arrive  when  prelates  will  eat  my  soup  without 
fear  of  contamination,  and  modest  women  ad- 
mit me  to  their  society  without  apprehending 
a  loss  of  reputation.  Do  not  be  angry  with 
me,  I  beseech  you ;  it  is  impossible  to  treat 
the  subject  otherwise  :  and,  ii'  I  might  add  an- 
other petition  to  the  many  you  have  already 
so  kindly  granted,  let  me  entreat  you  to  give 
our  correspondence  a  more  pleasing  and  prof- 
itable subject,  than  the  failings  of 

Your  very  sincei'e, 
and  obliged,  &c. 


180 


LETTER  XLI. 


THE  world  at  large  is  so  disposed  to 
generalise,  that  it  is  seldom  right  when  it  de- 
scends into  the  detail  of  opinion.  It  has  so 
many  eyes  and  objects,  that,  in  the  act  of  par- 
ticularising the  sources  of  its  favour  or  disap- 
probation, the  rectitude  or  errour  of  its  con- 
clusions are  both  the  effect  of  hazard.  I,  as 
you  too  well  know,  have  been  the  subject  of 
its  severest  censure ;  but,  with  all  my  faults, 
I  have  much  reason  to  complain  of  its  precip- 
itate injustice. 

Among  other  instances  of  its  premature  in- 
disposition towards  me,  the  circumstance  to 
which  you  have  alluded  with  so  much  hu- 
mour, is  in  proof  of  my  assertion  ;  and,  to 
heighten  my  mortification  at  that  time,  my 
own  family  joined  the  popular  cry :  so  that, 
in  pronouncing  all  possibility  of  amendment, 
the  devoted  prodigal  was  driven  to  a  situation 
which  absolutely  precluded  him  from  it. 

My  father,  in  a  long  detail  of  my  unworthi- 
ness,  which,  with  his  usual  tenderness,  he 


181 

dealt  forth  to  Harry  de  Sails,  as  a  climax  to 
the  amiable  history,  concluded  the  list  of  my 
enormities  with  declaring  that  I  actually  in- 
trigued with  three  different  women  of  fashion 
at  one  and  the  same  time.  Without  making 
any  comment  on  the  very  creditable  account 
given  of  me,  and  the  favourable  picture  which 
his  pious  Lordship  displayed  of  our  first-rate 
females,  permit  me  to  assure  you,  that  neither 
my  prowess  with  the  ladies,  nor  any  foolish, 
unworthy  deed  of  mine  occasioned  the  pater- 
nal  displeasure  of  that  moment.  The  subject 
of  an  occasional  morning's  reading  was  the 
true,  but  unacknowledged  cause  of  my  dis- 
grace. I  shall  do  myself  the  justice  of  relat- 
ing the  fact  to  you  in  all  its  circumstances. 

You  must  have  heard  of  the  celebrated 
skeptical  writer  Claude  Anet.  His  works,  and 
the  prosecution  which  they  brought  upon  him, 
have  conspired  to  give  his  name  no  small  share 
of  publick  notoriety.  It  will  be  also  necessa- 
ry to  inform  you,  that,  after  the  sacred  writ- 
ings, Lord  L has  directed  his  partial 

estimation  to  two  popular  theological  produc- 
tions. The  one  details,  explains,  and  observes 
upon  the  resurrection  of  Christ ;  and  the  oth- 
er defends  the  character  and  conduct  of  the 
apostle  Paul.  The  former  was  written  by  his 


182 

dearly  beloved  friend  Mr.  West — the  latter, 
by  himself.  The  infidel  Claude  Anet,  among 
other  matters,  thought  proper  to  give  these 
two  publications  a  particular  and  separate  con- 
sideration. He  had  the  abominable  impu- 
dence to  declare,  that  they  were  not  only  de- 
ficient in  their  principles,  but  that  they  were 
logically  defective  in  the  means  they  took  to 
support  them :  nay,  he  undertakes  to  give 
them  arguments  superiour  to  any  they  have 
used,  and  then  to  confute  them.  On  this 
ground  he  opens  his  battery,  and  makes  his 
attack ;  nor  is  he  without  his  partizans  ainong 
men  of  learning  and  talents,  as  I  have  been 
informed,  who  do  not  hesitate  to  assign  him 
the  victory.  Of  this  I  do  not  pretend  to  de- 
termine— 1  have,  in  truth,  no  genius  for  that 
line  of  criticism.  The  mode  of  proceeding, 
however,  must  be  acknowledged  to  have  been 
accompanied  with  an  air  of  insolence  and  con- 
tempt, which  might  have  been  the  cause  of 
mortification  to  men  of  a  less  sensible  fibre 
than  one,  at  least,  of  those,  against  whom  it 
was  directed.  It  had  this  effect  in  the  ex- 
treme :  for  the  pity  of  the  Christian  gave  way 
to  the  pride  of  the  author ;  and  the  damnable 
skeptick,  instead  of  being,  the  object  of  fer- 
vent prayer  that  he  might  be  converted  from 


183 

the  errour  of  his  way,  was  wafted,  in  a  mo- 
ment, by '  his  pious1  antagonist,  to  the  howling 
portion  of  the  devil  and  his  angels: 

In  an  unlucky  hour  it  was  discovered,  that 
ihis  offensive  volume  was  in  my  possession, 
and  the  subject  of  my  occasional T  mtjdhation  \ 
and  from  hence  arose  that  unexpjpcte^burst  o£ 
displeasure  that  fell:with  so  mucl;r- weight  up: 
on  me,  and  which  had  instant  recourse  to  my 
graceless  life,  as  the  pretended  reason  for  its 
justification.  I  do  not  know  a  quality  of  the 
human  mind  that  Is  of  such  an,  absorbent  na- 
ture as  vanity:  in  one  disappointed  .moment 
it  will  suck  up  the  virtue  of  years.  •  If  Claude 
Anet  had  levelled  his  shafts  in  a  different  di- 
rection, or  I  had  encreased  my  caution  in 
tracing  their  course,  I  might  have  intrigued 
with  an  whole  seraglio  of  women  of  fashion, 
without  drawing  down  upon  me  an  atom  of 
that  vengeance  of  which  I  was  the  victim.  I 
could  not  tell  the  true  cause,  as  it  would 
have  increased,  if  possible,  the  irritation  a- 
gainst  me,  without  doing  any  good ;  and,  be- 
sides, my  authority  would  have  been  lighter 
than  a  feather,  in  the  publick  opinion,  when 
put  in  competition  with  the  power  that  perse- 
cuted me :  for,  religious  opinions  apart,  the 
whole  was  an  abominable  persecution. 


184 

I  never  felt  so  sensibly  the  inconvenience 
of  a  bad  character  as  at  this  period.  Impu- 
dence could  do  but  little ;  hypocrisy,  which 
is  so  thick  a  garb  for  half  mankind,  was  not 
a  veil  of  gauze  to  me ;  and,  as  for  repent- 
ance, that  was  not  in  the  reach  of  ordinary 
credibility.  I  was  really  in  the  situatiorv-sf 
the  Quaker's  dog,  who,  being  caught  in  the 
fact  of  robbing  the  pantry,  was  told,  in  all 
the  complacency  of  revenge,  by  his  amiable 
master,  "  I  will  not  beat  thee,  nor  kill  thee, 
•'  for  thy  thieving  ;  but  I  will  do  worse,  for  I 
"  will  give  thee  a  bad  name ;"  and  immediately, 
on  driving  him  from  the  house,  alarmed  the 
neighbourhood  with  the  calm  assurance  that 
he  was  a  wad  dog :  so  that  the  poor  animal 
was  pursued  with  the  unreflecting  brutality 
usual  on  such  occasions,  which  soon  put  an 
end  to  his  existence.  You  'may  truly  apply 
this  story  to 

Your  affectionate, 


LETTER  XLIL 


YOU  must  confess,  as  I  am  sure  you  ve- 
ry well  know,  that  one  of  the  great  arts,  if  not 
the  principal  one,  in  acquiring  a  reputation, 
as  well  as  preserving  it,  is  to  know  the  extent 
of  our  genius,  what  objects  are  most  suitable 
to  it,  in  what  track  its  propensities  should  be 
conducted,  and  at  what  point  to  place  the  limits 
beyond  which  it  must  venture  with  caution,  as 
well  as  the  neplus  ultra,  whose  barriers  it  must 
not  venture  to  pass.  The  man  who  possesses 
this  knowledge,  and  acts  according  to  the  dic- 
tates of  it,  will  not  fail  to  make  a  respectable 
figure  in  any  station,  and  with  any  talents; 
but  in  an  high  station,  and  great  talents,  he 
may  be  secure  of  familiarizing  his  name  with 
future  ages. 

Ambition,  an  ardent  and  specious  child  of 
self-love,  continually  urges  men  to  pursue  ob- 
jects beyond  their  reach.  Avarice,  an  horrid, 
unnatural  cub  of  the  same  origin,  and  a  dis- 
grace to  it,  takes  a  track  which  reason  dis- 
dains, and  honour  must  condemn,  to  satisfy 


186 

its  desires.     Envy  delights  itself  in  obsf 
ing  the  prosperous  career  of  others;  and  fo 
ly,  dreaming  of  what  it  cannot  possess,  wi 
aim  at  the  wreath  of  wisdom.     In  short,  sin 
ignorance  of  ourselves,  from  whatever  cau<>c 
it  may  proceed,  whether  from  passion  or  want 
of  reflection,  is  the  origin  of  all  our  mistakes 
in  private   as  well   as  publick  life.      In   the 
former,   the  mischief  may  be   of  narrow  ex- 
tent ;  but,  in  the  latter,  the  evil  may  affect, 
not  only  a  people,  but  every  quarter  of  the 
globe.    The  grand  source  of  that  glory  which 
shone,  and  will  continue  to  shine,  with  res- 
plendent lustre  on  Mr.  Pitt's  administration  of 
this  country,  till  the  annals  of  it  are  no  more, 
was  a  right  application  of  means  to  ends,  and, 
among  others,  of  employing  men  according  to 
the  nature  and  tendency  of  their  characters 
and  talents.     You  must  perceive  the  drift  of 
my  argument ;  that  it  leads  to  the  defence  of 
my  publick  political  conduct  since  I  have  suc- 
ceeded to  my  office  in  the  constitution.     Yon 
tell  me  of  application  to  business,  and  of  throw- 
ing aside  a  golden  sinecure  as  disgraceful  to  a 
real  patriot.     You  counsel  me,  in  the  most  flat- 
tering manner,  to  claim  an  arduous  post  of  gov- 
ernment, and,  by  a  vigilant  attention  to  its  du- 
ties, to  make  a  better  return  for  the  emolu- 


187 

ments  of  office,  than  half  a  dozen  flowery  ora- 
tions in  parliament,  during  a  winter's  session, 
which  are,  in  your  opinion,  sufficiently  re- 
warded by  the  gratifications  of  my  own  vani- 
ty. This,  I  must  acknowledge,  is  coming  at 
once,  and  without  ceremony,  to  the  point; 
but  think  for  a  moment,  and  ask  yourself, 
what  kind  of  figure  I  should  make  at  the  desk. 
Can  you  imagine  that  it  is  in  my  nature,  and, 
of  course,  in  my  capacity,  to  bear  the  oppres- 
sion of  such  multifarious  and  eternal  business 
as  must  claim  the  attention  of  an  eminent  offi- 
cial statesman  ?  The  admirable  structure  of 
the  British  constitution,  its  commerce,  its  in* 
terests,  and  its  alliances,  have  been  the  ob- 
jects of  my  serious  enquiry  and  attentive  con- 
sideration. I  take  continual  occasion  to  watch 
the  changing  scene  of  its  political  movements : 
I  form,  with  much  thought,  my  opinions  upon 
them :  I  deliver  those  opinions,  in  my  senato- 
rial capacity,  to  the  world  ;  not  from  the  sug- 
gestions of  a  giddy  hour,  or  from  the  spur  of 
momentary  vanity,  but  from  curious  research, 
ardent  reflection,  and  deliberate  preparation. 
To  this  point,  my  talents,  such  as  they  are, 
must  be  directed ;  and,  by  having  given  them 
in  some  degree  their  natural  direction,  I  have 
acquired  a  political  reputation,  which  would 


188 

be  lost  in  contempt  and  derision,  were  they 
to  be  employed  in  the  routine  of  official  em- 
ployment, and  the  perplexities  of  ministerial 
duty.  Besides,  if  there  be  any  thing  which 
requires  a  more  than  vestal's  vigilance,  it  is 
the  guidance  of  a  principal  wheel  in  the  ma- 
chine of  our  government ;  and  such  a  contin- 
ual attention  is  foreign  to  my  nature.  I  might, 
perhaps,  possess  it  for  a  certain  time,  and  ap- 
ply it  with  zeal ;  may  I  not  add,  with  reputa- 
tion ?  But  my  existence  would  be  insupporta- 
ble, if  the  intervals  of  relaxation  did  not  fre- 
quently relieve  me,  when  I  might  retire 

To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade, 
Or  with  the  tangle*  of  Necra'*  bair. 

There  is  a  certain  degree  of  phlegm  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  the  well-being  of  society  ; 
but  I  possess  not  an  atom  of  it.  There  is  al- 
so an  ardour  of  mind  that  leads  to  national  as 
well  as  personal  greatness,  nor  am  I  without 
an  active  flame  of  it  ;  but  it  burns  by  flashes, 
and  possesses  me  only  in  common  with  other 
contending  passions,  which,  in  their  turn,  com- 
mand my  obedience,  and  are  obeyed.  Suffer 
the  stream,  I  beseech  you,  to  flow  in  those 
channels  which  nature  has  designed  for  it :  let 
it  pass  on  sometimes  in  foaming  eddies,  and 
sometimes  with  a  tranquil  wave :  be  content 


189 

to  watch  its  progress ;  and,  though  it  may  now 
force  its  angry  passage  through  the  divided 
mountain,  your  eye  may  soon  behold  its  crys- 
tal surface  reflect  the  golden  harvests  and  flow- 
ery meadows.  But,  should  its  natural  course 
be  changed,  it  would  be  quickly  lost  in  bog 
and  morass  ;  nor  ever  grow  into  that  extent 
and  grandeur  of  waters  which  many  rivulets 
attain  before  they  reach  the  ocean. 

Is  there  not,  in  my  own  family,  an  imme- 
diate circumstance  of  ridicule  which  comes  in 
aid  of  my  argument  ?  My  father,  who  made  a 
respectable  figure  as  a  senator,  in  both  Hous- 
es of  Parliament,  and  possessed  that  theoret- 
ick  political  erudition  which  constituted  him  an 
able  counsellor  of  the  state,  was  incapable,  as 
you  very  well  know,  of  counting  twenty  pounds, 
if  thrown  in  a  promiscuous  heap  of  the  differ- 
ent British  coins :  nevertheless,  he  was  ap- 
pointed to  preside  at  the  Exchequer,  to  con- 
trive ways  and  means,  and  to  run  through  the 
combinations  of  finance,  without  the  know- 
ledge of  arithmetick  which  is  necessary  to  an 
overseer  of  the  poor.  And  what  was  the  con- 
sequence ?  The  whole  nation  was  upon  the 
titter  during  his  short-lived  administration ; 
nor  does  any  visitor  of  Hagley  House  pass 
through  the  room  which  is  adorned  with  the 


190 

Exchequer  strong-box,  but  beholds  the  emp* 
ty  badge  and  sad  memorial  of  his  ministerial 
honours  with  a  significant  look  of  wonder,  or 
shrug  of  disapprobation. 

The  sage  physician  endeavours  to  melior- 
ate, but  not  to  change,  the  constitution  of  his 
patient,  and  infuses,  by  degrees,  those  whole- 
some aids  which  may  help  to  lessen  its  infirm- 
ities. The  same  wise  conduct  should  be  pur- 
sued in  the  care  of  mental  health ;  and  to  aim 
at  turning  the  natural  bent  of  genius  is  an  ap- 
plication of  moral  quackery,  which  will  de- 
stroy all  fervour  of  ability,  administer  an  opi- 
ate to  the  faculties  of  mind,  bring  on  apathy 
and  torpour,  and  destroy  all  intellectual  nerve 
for  ever. 

Adieu,  &c. 


191 


LETTER  XLIIL 


I  TAKE  the  opportunity  of  a  sober  hour, 
•while  every  one  of  the  society  here,  except 
myself,  is  happy  in  the  delirium  of  a  fox- 
chase,  to  tell  you  where  I  am,  what  I  am  a- 
bout,  and  with  whom  engaged.  The  spleen 
of  a  gloomy  day  seized  upon  my  spirits ;  so  I 
ordered  my  chaise,  and  sought  the  enlivening 
hospitality  of  this  mansion.  To  increase  our 
satisfaction,  who  should  arrive  an  hour  after 
me  but  your  clerical  friend,  whose  blunt  sim- 
plicity and  unpolished  benevolence  afforded 
their  usual  entertainment.  Parson  Adams — 
for  he  has  no  other  name  within  these  walls 
— came  on  Thursday  to  dinner,  and  continu- 
ed with  us,  in  much  joy  of  heart,  till  Satur- 
day afternoon ;  when,  suddenly  awaking  from 
a  kind  of  snoring  doze,  he  made  a  most  vo- 
ciferous and  unexpected  demand  if  it  was  not 
the  last  day  of  the  week ;  and  receiving,  after 
some  pause  of  astonishment  and  laughter,  an 
answer  in  the  affirmative,  he  arose  in  haste, 
examined  his  pockets  with  a  most  anxious  vi? 


vacity,  and  then  broke  the  cordage  of  the 
bell,  in  the  violence  of  ringing  it.  Being  re- 
quested to  explain  the  meaning  of  all  this 
agitation,  he  observed,  in  a  tone  of  voice 
which  betokened  no  small  disappointment, 
that  as,  in  truth,  it  was  Saturday,  the  mor- 
row must,  in  the  natural  order  of  time,  be 
Sunday ;  and  as  Sunday  was  the  Sabbath- 
day,  it  was  fitting  he  should  immediately  re- 
turn home,  to  prepare  himself  for  the  duties 
of  it.  The  night  approached  and  threatened 
darkness  ;  it  was,  therefore,  proposed  to  him  to 
retake  the  possession  of  his  arm-chair,  nor  to 
think  of  business  till  the  next  morning.  "  My 
"  good  friends,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  it  be« 
"  comes  me  to  inform  you,  that  my  habita- 
"  tion  is  fourteen  miles  distant,  and  that  the 
"  church,  where  I  am  to  officiate  to-morrow 
"  morning,  is  exactly  in  the  mid-way ;  so  that, 
"  if  I  remain  here  till  the  time  you  propose, 
"  I  must  ride  fourteen  miles  to  fetch  a  ser- 
"  mon,  return  seven  of  the  same  miles  to 
"  preach  it,  and  then  go  over  these  individual 
"  seven  miles  for  the  third  time  to  preach  the 
"  same  sermon  again,  which  I  take,  accord- 
"  ing  to  common  arithmetick,  to  be  no  less 
"  than  twenty-eight  miles ;  and  all  this  riding, 
"with  double  duty,  will  be  too  much  both 


193 

"  for  man  and  beast.     I  really  thought,"  con- 
tinued our  Divine,  "  that  I  had  equipped  my- 
"  self  with  a  sermon,  in  order  to  make   the 
"  first  church  an  half-way  house  on  my  re- 
"  turn  to  my  own  parish ;  but  I  have  either 
"  forgot  to  clap  my  divinity  in  my  pocket,  or 
"  I  took  it  out  accidentally  with  my  tobacco- 
"  box   in   my    way,    and    have    unfortunately 
"dropped  it  in  the  road."     He  then  emptied 
all  his  pockets  one  by  one,  not  forgetting  the 
side-pocket  of  his  breeches,  turned  them  in- 
side out,  covered  the  floor  with  a  quanity  of 
dry  crumbs  of  bread  and  cheese,  looked  into 
his  tobacco-box,  took  his.  watch  from  his  fob, 
poked  down  two  of  his  flhgers,  examined  the 
lining  of  his  coat,  and,  at  length,,  with  a  deep 
sigh,    and  an  huge    expectoration   upon    his 
handkerchief^  which  he  had  thrown  upon  the 
ground,  he  gave  it  up  for  lost.    u  It  was"  saic| 
he,  "  the  best  discourse  I  had  to  my  back,  and 
"  as  pretty  a  piece  of  supernaculum  as  eves 
"  was  enclosed  in  black  covers.     It  was  divid- 
"  ed,"  continued  he,    "  into  three   parts ;  the 
"  first  was  taken  from  Clarke,  the  second  from 
"  Aberntfhy\  and  the  third  was  composed  by 
"  myself;  and  the  two  practical  observations 
"  were  translated  from  a  Latin  sermon  preach- 
"  ed  and  printed  at  Oxford,  in  the  year  of  our 

A  a 


194 

"  Lerd  1735."    On  my  observing  that  his  dis- 
course had  as  many  heads  as  Cerbtrus,    he 
grew  warm,  and  told  me  it  was  much  better 
to  have  three  heads  than  none  at  all.    "  But," 
added  the  Doctor,  "  if  you  wish  to  know  more 
"  of  the  matter,  it  had  four  beginnings,  and 
*'  seven  conclusions ;  by  the  help  whereof  I 
"  preached  it,  with  equal  success,  on  a  Christ- 
"  mas-day,  for  the  benefit  of  a  charity,  at  a 
"  florist's   feast,   an  assize,    an   arch-deacon's 
"  visitation,   and  a  funeral,   besides  common 
"  occasions."    On  this  account,  F observ- 
ed that  it  put  him  in  mind  of  the  mention  made, 
in   Tristram  Shandy,  of  a  text  which  would 
suit  any  sermon,  arfti  a  sermon  which  would 
suit  any  text.  This  the  zealous  preacher  loud- 
ly declared  was  a  false  insinuation ;    for  that 
his  text  was  steady  to  its  post,  nor  had  ever 
deserted  it ;  and  that  whoever  took  him  for 
a  man  who  would  hold  out  a  false  flag,  or 
change  his  colours,  on  any  occasion,  mistook 
his  character,  and  did  him  a  very  sensible  in- 
justice.     At  this  period,    the   master  of  the 
house  returned  from  a  quiet  but  fruitless  ex- 
amination of  his  book-case,    for  the  purpose 
of  finding,  perchance,  some  old  printed  ser- 
mon which  might  have  served  the  Doctor's 
purpose,  prolonged  the  pleasure  of  his  socie- 


195 

ty,  and  saved  him  his  dark  and  dangerous 
journey.  On  this  disappointment,  I  ventured 
to  remark,  that,  as  he  had  given  us  so  many 
agreeable  specimens  of  his  ready  eloquence, 
it  was  certainly  in  his  power  to  treat  his  flock 
with  an  extempore  discourse ;  and  I  strongly 
recommended  him  to  adopt  my  idea,  when  he 
struck  me  dumb,  by  hinting  to  me,  in  a  loud 
significant  whisper,  that  I  was  mistaken  in 
supposing  it  to  be  as  easy  a  business  to  preach 
a  sensible  discourse  on  a  divine  subject,  ex- 
tempore, in  a  pulpit,  as  to  talk  a  precipitate 
hour  of  flowery,  frothy  nonsense,  on  a  polit- 
ical one,  in  the  Parliament  House.  At  this 
moment  of  superiority  his  horse  was  announc- 
ed, and  we  all  attended  to  hear,  rather  than 
to  see  him  depart,  which  he  did  with  much 
horse  language,  and  in  a  night  of  triple  dark- 
ness. 

It  was  now  seven  o'clock  ;  our  spirits  were 
fled  with  the  parson :  we  gambled  a  little,  but 
not  with  sufficient  spirit  to  keep  us  awake, 
till  at  length  supper  fortunately  arrived  to 
change  the  scene ;  and  I  had  scarce  dissect- 
ed the  wing  of  a  capon,  when  we  were  all 
alarmed  by  a  voice  from  the  court,  which  re- 
peated the  cry  of  "  house  !  house  !"  with  un- 
common vehemence.  We  left  the  table  and 


196 

hurried  to  the  hall-door,  when  the  same  voice 
demanded,  in  the  same  tone,  whether  that 
was  the  road  to  Bridgenorth  ?  On  a  reply  in 
the  negative,  it  continued,  "  I  suppose,  then, 
"  I  am  at  Davenport  House."  On  a  second 
reply  in  the  negative,  "  Then  where  the  devil 
am  I  ?"  returned  the  voice,  for  we  could  see 
nothing  ;  but  the  candles  arriving,  who  should 
appear  but  our  unfortunate  Doctor,  who,  af- 
ter wandering  about  the  commons  for  upwards 
of  three  hours,  had,  by  mere  chance,  return- 
ed to  us  again.  We  received  him  in  triumph, 
placed  him  at  the  head  of  the  table,  where, 
without  grace  or  apology,  or  indeed  uttering 
a  single  word,  he  seized  on  the  best  part  of  a 
fowl,  with  a  proportionable  quantity  of  ham, 
and  left  us  to  laugh  and  be  merry,  while  he 
voraciously  devoured  his  meat,  and  held  his 
tongue.  At  length,  observing  that  his  clay 
wanted  moistening,  and  that  punch  was  a  flu- 
id the  best  adapted  of  any  other  to  his  soil, 
he  did  not  delay  an  instant  to  quench  his 
thirsty  frame  from  a  large  bowl  of  that  re- 
freshing beverage.  The  cords  of  his  tongue 
were  now  loosened,  and  he  informed  us,  thai 
Providence,  having,  as  he  supposed,  for  wise 
and  good  purposes,  intimated  to  him,  by  a  va- 
riety of  obstructions,  that  he  should  not  dis* 


charge  his  usual  functions  on  the  morrow,  it 
became  him  to  shew  a  due  resignation  to  the 
will  of  Heaven,  and,  therefore,  he  should  send 
his  flocks  to  grass  on  the  approaching  Sabbath. 
In  a  similar  strain  he  continued  to  entertain  us, 
till,  wearied  with  laughter,  we  were  glad  to  re- 
tire. The  next  morning  it  was  hinted  to  him 
that  the  company  did  not  wish  to  restrain  him 
from  attending  upon  the  divine  service  of  the 
parish :  but  he  declared  that  it  would  be  add- 
ing contempt  to  neglect,  if,  when  he  had  ab- 
sented himself  from  his  own  churches,  he 
should  go  to  any  other.  This  curious  etiquette 
he  strictly  observed  ;  and  we  passed  a  Sabbath, 
contrary,  I  fear,  both  to  law  and  gospel. 

In  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  our  divine  has 
given  us  an  invitation  to  dine  with  him  at  his 
parsonage  on  Thursday  next.  I  expect  infi- 
nite entertainment  from  the  party ;  and  you 
may  depend,  by  the  succeeding  post,  to  re- 
ceive the  best  hash  of  it  which  the  cookery 
of  my  pen  can  afford  you.  In  the  mean  time, 
and  at  all  times,  I  remain 

Your's  most  affectionately. 


198 


LETTER  XL1P. 


THE  visit  is  paid,  and  more  than  an- 
swered the  warmest  expectations  which  could 
be  formed  in  its  favour.  Our  Reverend  Host 
had  insisted,  not  a  la  mode  de  Scarron,  that 
each  of  his  guests  should  bring  his  dish,  but 
that  they  should  individually  name  it.  This 
easy  preliminary  was  readily  complied  with, 
and  it  was  my  lot  to  give  birth  to  as  excel- 
lent a  plumb-pudding  as  ever  smoked  upon 
a  table ;  which,  from  my  adoption,  he  is  re- 
solved, in  future,  to  call  a  Lyttleton.  You 
see  what  honours  wait  upon  me,  and  to  what 

solid  excellence  my  title  is  assimilated.    F 

had  named  a  goose,  which  he  immediately 
christened  after  its  godfather,  who  did  not 
quite  relish  the  joke,  and  could  hardly  force 
a  laugh,  when  the  rest  of  the  company  were 
bursting.  The  whole  meal  was  a  very  com- 
fortable one  ;  and  the  Doctor  produced  us  no 
small  quantity  of  very  tolerable  wine :  his 
punch  was  grateful  to  the  nostrils  ;  but  he  had 
made  it  in  a  large  pewter  vessel,  so  like  a  two 


199 

handled  chamber-pot,  that  my  resolution  was 
not  equal  to  the  applying  of  it  to  my  palate. 

On  its  being  observed  that -he  must  have 
taken  no  small  pains  to  procure  all  the  good 
things  before  us,  he  declared  that  no  trouble 
had  attended  any  one  article  but  the  pudding, 
whiCH,  he  said,  had  almost  destroyed  a  pair 
of  black  plush  breeches,  in  riding  round  the 
country  to  learn  how  it  should  be  made  in  per- 
fection. "  You  cannot  be  ignorant,  my  Lord," 
continued  our  Divine,  addressing  himself  par- 
ticularly to  me,  "that .a  plumb-pudding  is  no- 
"  thing  more  than  a  pudding,  however  it  may 
"  be  composed,  with  plumbs  added  to  the  oth- 
"  er  ingredients  ;  but,  apprehensive  that  the 
"  ordinary  skill  of  our  homely  kitchens,  in  this 
"  particular,  might  not  be  agreeable  to  such 
"  refined  palates  as  your's,  I  resolved  to  trav- 
"  erse  the  whole  neighbourhood  in  order  to 
"obtain  all  ^necessary  intelligence.  Every 
"  learned  person,  to  whom  I  applied,  agreed, 
"  as  your  Lordship  may  suppose,  in  the  es- 
"  sential  articles  of  flour  and  water,  milk  and 
"  eggs>  suet  and  plumbs,  or  raisins ;  but  the 
"  variety  of  other  articles,  which  were  seve- 
tf  rally  recommended,  filled  two  pages  of  my 
•;  memorandum-book,  and  drove  me  almost  to 
"  despair.  In  the  multitude  of  counsellors,  I 


200 

"  did  not,  according  to  the  proverb,  find  wis- 
"  dom,  but  confusion.  I  was  successively,  al- 
"  ternately,  and  separately  advised  the  addi- 
*4  tion  of  rum,  brandy,  wine,  strong  beer,  spices 
"  of  every  sort,  chopped  liver,  and  Holland's 
"  gin.  With  this  load  of  multifarious  intelli- 
"  gence,  I  hastened  to  the  market  town,  fur- 
"  nished  myself  with  every  ingredient  my  own 
"  little  store-house  did  not  possess,  and  return* 
"  ed  home  jaded,  fatigued,  and  my  pockets  lad- 
"  en  with  the  produce  of  all  quarters  of  the 
"  globe.  Bufanother  important  labour,"  added 
the  Doctor,  "  succeeded  in  the  consultation  a- 
"  bout  the  choice  and  due  mode  of  applying  the 
"  hoard  of  grocery  and  variety  of  liquors  which 
"  were  displayed  in  form  on  the  kitchen  dres- 
"  ser :  it  was  a  solemn  business,  for  the  Lord 
"  had  commanded  it.  Consultation,  however, 
"  begot  difference  of  opinion,  and  difference  of 
"  opinion  brought  on  dispute  ;  so  that  I  was 
"  at  length  obliged  to  interpose  my  authority ; 
"  and,  to  shorten  the  business,  I  ordered  all 
"  the  various  articles,  consisting  of  more  than 
"  a  dozen  in  number,  to  be  employed  without 
"  favour  or  affection.  The  motley  mixture 
"  was  accordingly  made,  and,  as  every  person 
"  consulted  seemed  to  agree,  that  the  longer 
"  it  boiled  the  better  it  would  prove,  I  ordered 


201 

<*  it  to  be  put  into  the  pot  at  midnight,  and 
"  sent  for  a  famous  nurse  in  the  neighbour* 
"  hood  to  sit  up  with  it,  and,  with  a  vestal's 
"  vigilance,  to  keep  in  the  fire  till  the  family 
"  arose.  In  this  state  of  concoction  the  pud- 
"  ding  remained  till  after  the  arrival  of  this 
"  good  company,  who,  I  hope,  will  be  so  pre- 
judiced in  its  favour,  from  the  Herculean 
"  labour  which  produced  it,  as  to  attack  its 
"  circumference  with  Herculean  appetites."— 
Here  ended  the  culinary  oration,  and,  as  I 
before  observed,  the  subject  of  it  contained 
unrivalled  excellence  ;  and,  though  we  laugh- 
ed at  it  and  over  it,  we  did  not  fail  to  cause  a 
very  apparent  diminution  of  its  ample  dimen- 
sions. Thus,  my  dear  friend,  we  eat  and 
laughed,  and  drank  and  laughed,  till  night 
stole  imperceptibly  upon  us ;  when  our  hos- 
pitable host  informed  us,  that  he  had  two 
beds  and  a  cradle  in  his  own  house,  and  that 
he  had  prepared  three  others  at  two  neigh- 
bouring farmers  :  so  that  we  might  be  at  rest, 
as  to  our  lodging,  nor  like  him  encounter  the 
perils  of  a  darksome  night.  The  squires,  add- 
ed he,  must  adjourn  to  my  neighbours' ;  my 
two  beds  will  serve  the  peer  and  the  baronet, 
and  I  myself  will  take  to  the  cradle.  Now, 
this  cradle,  which  caused  us  no  little  mirth, 


202 

and  will,  I  presume,  have  a  similar  effect  up- 
on you,  who  are  acquainted  with  the  huge 
figure  which  was  to  occupy  it— this  cradle,  I 
say,  is  a  most  excellent  moveable  for  a  small 
house.  It  is  made  of  a  sufficient  size  to  hold 
an  infant  six  feet  in  length,  can  be  placed  any 
where,  and  will  enable  an  hospitable  spirit  to 
supply  a  friend  with  a  lodging  when  his  beds 
are  engaged.  If  I  had  not  been  fearful  of  af- 
fronting our  Divine,  I  should  have  indulged 
my  curious  fancy  by  going  to  roost  in  it ;  but 
the  best  bed  was  prepared  for  me,  and  the 
fine  Holland  sheets,  which,  probably,  had  not 
been  taken  out  of  the  sweet-scented  press  for 
many  a  month,  were  spread  for  my  repose  : 
nor  would  my  slumbers  have  been  suspended 
for  a  moment,  if  the  linen  had  not  produced 
s»o  strong  an  effluvia  of  rosemary,  that  J  al- 
most fancied  myself  in  a  coffin,  and  wrapped 
in  a  winding-sheet.  But  fatigue  soon  got  the 
better  of  fancy ;  and  I  awoke  the  next  morn- 
ing to  life  and  spirits,  but  not  to  immortality. 

Before  I  bid  you  adieu,  permit  me  to  add  a 
singular  example  of  complimentary  repartee, 
which  our  friendly  host,  very  unexpectedly, 
addressed  to  me,  previous  to  our  departure. 

As  I  was  looking  out  of  the  parlour  win- 
dow, from  whence  nothing  is  to  be  seen  but 


a  black,  dreary  heath,  he  asked  me  how  1 
liked  the  prospect.  I  answered,  that,  from 
its  wild  appearance,  if  Nebuchadnezzar  had 
been  doomed  to  pasture  in  his  environs,  he 
must  have  died  of  hunger.  And  if  that 
prince,  replied  the  Doctor,  had  been  sentenc- 
ed to  have  passed  his  savage  years  in  your 
park  at  Hagley,  he  need  not  have  regretted 
the  loss  of  a  throne,  or  wished  a  return  to 
the .  enjoyment  of  his  human  functions.  At 
this  period  of  self-importance,  which,  in  the 
very  description,  returns  upon  me,  you  can- 
not be  surprized  if  I  take  my  leave. 

Adieu ! 


LETTER  XLF. 


MY  DEAR  •-— , 

IT  gives  me  no  small  satisfaction  to  be 
assured,  that  my  two  last  letters  have  afforded 
you  the  satisfaction  it  was  their  office  to  com- 
municate. The  rural  Divine  plays  a  most  ad- 
mirable  part  in  the  jovial  interludes  of  pro- 
vincial society.  It  is  a  pleasant  circumstance 
to  meet  occasionally  with  a  man,  whose  hu» 
mour,  sense,  and  foible  are  so  blended,  that, 
while  he  possesses  the  pleasant  mixture  of 
simplicity  and  vanity  which  bars  him  from 
distinguishing  when  you  laugh  with  him  or  at 
him — you  may  give  a  loose  to  the  whole  of 
your  mirthful  dispositions,  without  any  re- 
straint from  the  fear  of  giving  offence.  Our 

Reverend  friend  told  B ,  that  he  is  in  no 

small  disgrace  with  his  parishioners  for  enter- 
taining so  great  a  sinner  as  I  am ;  and  that 

one  of  them,  who  had  seen  me  at  Kiddermin- 

' 

stcr,  declares  throughout  the  neighbourhood 
that  I  have  a  cloven-foot.     I  am  not  without 


205 

tny  expectations  that  equal  vouchers  will  be 
produced  for  my  tail  and  horns,  and  then  the 
devil  will  be  complete. 

At  length,  the  grave  and  anxious  occupa- 
tions of  worldly  wisdom  succeed  to  mirth  and 
jollity.  The  interest  of  money,  and  the  value 
of  lives,  together  with  trusts  and  securities, 
are  the  subjects  of  my  present  meditations. — 
To  explain  myself,  I  am  considering  a  plan 
for  easing  my  estate  of  the  jointures  to  the 
two  dowager  Lady  Lyttletons — for  they  are 
both  so  in  fact — by  making  a  purchase  of  e- 
quivalent  annuities  for  their  valuable  lives.- — • 
Fortune  has  been  kind  to  me,  and  I  will  for 
once  win  your  applause,  by  applying  her  gifts 
to  sensible  purposes.  To  use  a  news-paper 
species  of  portraiture,  what  think  you  of  the 
picture  of  a  young  nobleman  offering  the  fa- 
vours of  fortune  on  the  altar  of  wisdom,  by 
the  present  Lord  Lyttleton  ?  If  this  idea 
should  be  completed — and,  I  assure  you,  the 
dead  colouring  is  disappearing  apace — will 
you  place  the  painting  in  the  cabinet  of  your 
mind,  in  the  room  of  the  picture  which  you 
designed,  and  have  so  often  retouched,  of 
that  self-same  nobleman  sacrificing  the  gifts 
of  nature  to  folly,  vice,  and  intemperance, 


I  mist  and  believe,  that  a  sordid  thirst  af- 
ter money  will  never  be  added  to  the  cata- 
logue of  my  failings.  It  is  true,  that  the  love 
of  play  proceeds  from  the  desire  of  gain ;  and 
is,  therefore,  said  to  be  founded  on  an  avari- 
cious principle.  If  this  be  fact,  avarice  is  the 
universal,  passion;  for  I  will  venture  to  af- 
firm, that,  more  or  less,  we  are  all  gamesters 
by  nature.  But  the  desire  of  winning  money 
for  the  sake  of  spending  it,  and  encreasing 
the  joys  of  life,  is  one  thing ;  and  the  ardouf 
of  acquiring  it,  in  order  to  lock  it  up,  and 

render  it  useless,  is  another. 

• 

Mahimdn,  the  !eait  erected  spirit  tffst  felt 

From  Heav'n  :   for  e'en  in  Heav'n  his  loo'»»  and  thoughts 

\Vere  always  downwards  bent,  admiring  rnore 

The  riches  of  Heaven's  pavement,  trodden  gold, 

Than  ought  divine  or  holy  else  erjoy'U 

la  vision  beatiUck. 

I  remain,  most  truly,  Sec. 

I  cannot,  at  present,  give  a  correct  answer  td 
your  enquiry ;  but,  from  the  recollection  of 
the  moment,  the  only  inscriptions  written 
or  corrected  by  my  father,  in  the  Temple 
©f  British  worthies  at  Stow,  are  those  be- 
neath the  Bustos  of  Locke,  Pope,  and  Sir 
yohn  Barnard :  but  I  .will  take  an  opportu- 
nity of  satisfying  you  with  a  more  accurato 
information. 


207 


LETTER  XLFL 


A >-,  by  no  means,  deserves  your  pity ; 

and  the  conduct  which  I  have,  of  late,  used, 
and*shall  continue  to  use,  towards  him,  arises 
from  my  perfect  knowledge  of  his  character, 
and  the  remembrance  of  his  former  treatment 
of  myself.  I  told  you  long  ago,  when  my 
bulrush  hung  its  head,  that,  high  as  this  gen- 
tleman then  bore  himself,  the  time  would 
come  when  he  would  hang  his  head  in  his 
turn,  and  bend  his  back  for  me  to  tread  upon. 
All  this  and  more  is  now  come  to  pass. 

You  express  your  surprize  that  he  does  not 
discover  some  degree  of  resentment  on  the 
occasion  of  his  journey  to  Haglcy.  The  fever 
of  that  business  flushed  him  with  no  small 
hope,  and  the  succeeding  ague  shook  him 
with  disappointment ;  but  he  had  the  pru- 
dence to  conceal  his  symptoms,  and  I  left 
him  to  cure  himself.  He  may  bluster  in  a 
guard-room  with  new-commissioned  ensigns, 
and,  in  the  leisure  of  'a  tilt-yard  duty,  may 
ve  fanciful  wreaths  of  future  farae :  nay, 


209 

he  may  venture  to  give  his  name  to  the  world 
in  a  news-paper,  or  the  title-page  of  a  miser- 
able poem ;  but  the  prowess  of  our  hero  will 
go  no  farther.  If  I  were  to  bid  him  go  to  the 
Pomona  of  Hocknel  for  a  pippin,  he  would 
not  hesitate  a  moment,  and  would  burn  his 
lingers  willingly  in  roasting  it ;  and,  when  I 
had  eaten  the  pulp,  he  would  content  himself 
with  the  core. 

All  this  my  little  Greek  exactly  knowi ; 
And  bid  iiiiu  go  to  hell,  to  hell  lie  goes. 

If,  however,  your  obstinate  humanity  should 
look  towards  such  an  object,  have  a  little  pa- 
tience, and  he  will  give  you  an  opportunity 
for  the  full  exercise  of  it.  I  am  in  the  secret ; 
but  I  shall  not  gratify  his  vanity  by  betraying 
it.  After  all,  I  find  him  convenient  and  to 
my  purpose.  He  is  ready,  submissive,  and 
not  without  amusement.  If  he  were  to  die, 
I  should  say  with  Shakespeare,  I  could  have 
better  spared  a  better  man. 

At  this  moment,  he  is  sitting  on  the  other 
side  of  my  table,  in  the  act  of  making  some 
of  his  own  bad  poetry  worse,  in  which  agree- 
able business,  I  may,  perhaps,  be  kind  enough 
to  give  him  some  assistance.  You  would  not, 
probably,  have  suspected  him  in  so  close  a 
vicinity  to  me  ;  but  it  is  the  fact :  and  v,  hen  I 


209 

have  folded  up  my  letter,  he  shall  enclose  it 
in  its  envelope ',  and  set  the  seal  to  this  certifi- 
cate of  his  own  good  qualities :  nay,  I  will 
make  him  direct  it  into  the  bargain.  Your 
pence,  it  is  true,  will  suffer  for  this  whim  of 
mine,  but  the  revenue  will  be  a  gainer ;  a  cir- 
cumstance which  must  satisfy  you  as  a  patri- 
ot, on  the  truly  political  idea  of  making  follies 
productive  to  the  state.  You  may  observe, 
however,  and  with  some  reason,  that  every 
one  should  pay  for  his  own.  To  such  a  re- 
mark I  have  nothing  to  answer,  but  that  I  am 
Your  sincere  and  faithful,  &c. 


GtO 


LETTER  XLVIt 


I  SHALL  expect  you  with  impatience, 
and  am  much  flattered  that  you  can  leave  the 

society  of  your  friend  C for  the   sake  of 

yielding  to  my  solicitations.  Is  it  beyond  the 
reach  of  your  influence  to  persuade  him  to 
accompany  you  ?  I  am  apprehensive,  that  he 
may  have  some  scruples  in  being  a  guest  of 
mine ;  but,  if  he  will  accord  me  that  honour, 
I  will  assume  the  virtue,  though  I  have  it 
not,  and  he  shall  find  nothing  chez  moi  which 
shall  give  the  least  offence  to  the  tranquil  pu- 
rity of  his  character.  Perhaps  you  will  be 
my  guarantee  upon  the  occasion.  We  were 
at  Eton  together,  though  not  in  any  particu- 
lar intimacy ;  and  since  that  time  I  had  once 
the  pleasure  of  dining  with  him.  I  happened 
by  chance  to  be  present  when  he  proposed  to 
give  an  Etonian  dinner :  his  politeness  led 
him  to  invite  me  and  the  party  was  most 
pleasant  and  classical.  A  particular  circum- 
stance of  it  I  shall  never  forget.  One  of  the 
company,  who  had  done  honour  to  his  table 


by  indulging  a  very  voracious  appetite,  wheti 
the  desert  was  served,  thought  proper  to  re- 
collect the  deficiency  of  a  dish  of  fish  which 
had  been  promised  him,  and,  in  the  true  vein 
of  gorged  disappointment,  reproached  your 
friend  for  his  forgetfulness.  The  reply  was 
singular,  affecting,  and,  to  the  best  of  my  re- 
collection, as  follows  :  "  When  I  met  you  this 

*'  morning,"  said  Mr.  C ,  "  I  was  proceed- 

"  ing  to  Temple-bar  for  the  purpose  of  expend- 
"  ing  an  allotted  trifle  on  a  Turbot ;  but,  a 
"  few  minutes  after,  I  received  an  unwilling 
"  application  from  a  very  distressed  person, 
"  to  whom  a  guinea  was  far  more  necessary 
"  than  the  addition  of  one  particular  dish  to  a 
"  plentiful  dinner  would  be  to  you,  and  you 
"  very  well  know  the  strict  regulations  of  my 
"  Exchequer.  It  is  true,"  continued  he,  "  that 
4i  you  have  lost  your  fish ;  but  it  is  equally 
"  true,  that,  from  the  same  cause,  a  poor  un- 
"  fortunate  fellow-creature  has -lost  his  despair. 
"  Besides,  the  relish  of  the  Turbot  must  have 
"  long  been  superceded  on  your  palate,  and  I 
';  have  added  a  pleasure  to  my  heart  which  will 
u  last  for  ever."  He  expressed  himself  with 
much  more  ease  and  simplicity  than  I  have 
done  ;  and  I  was  so  affected,  that,  had  I  then 
enjoyed  my  present  affluence,  I  should  have 


212 

instantly  subscribed  to  hospitals,  and  gone  a- 
bout  in  search  of  doing  good.  But,  alas  !  these 
thoughts,  morally  speaking,  of  my  better  days, 
have  been  rendered  fruitless  in  the  succession 
of  evil  habits  ;  and  I  know  not  where  I  ^.lall 
find  a  restorative,  unless  the  society  of  your 
friend  should  renew  its  former  influence  over 
me. 

Another  circumstance  of  a  very  different 
nature  occurs  to  me  from  the  recollection  of 
that  day's  pleasure.  Poor  John  Darner  was 
one  of  the  company.  He  has  made  a  strange 
exit  in  a  strange  manner.  We  were  at  Eton 
and  in  Italy  together,  and  at  subsequent  peri- 
ods in  the  habits  of  friendly  connection. — 
Few  of  those  who  knew  him  have  been  more 
gloomily  affected  by  the  melancholy  event  than 
myself.  I  have  been  informed,  that  the  King 
has  exerted  his  royal  influence  to  prevent  the 
publication  of  David  Hume's  posthumous  trea- 
tise in  defence  of  self-murder.  I  am  well  con- 
vinced that  his  Majesty  has  acted  with  his  ac- 
customed regard  to  the  welfare  of  his  people, 
in  procuring  the  suppression  of  a  work  dan- 
gerous to  society,  and  in  direct  opposition  to 
evangelical  precept:  but,  for  my  own  part,  I 
cannot  conceive,  that  any  man,  in  this  period 
of  the  world,  could  ever  be  argued  into  putt- 


ing  a  willing  end  to  his  existence,  unless  some 
circumstances  of  ill-fortune,  some  malady  of 
the  mind,  or  some  torturing  disease  of  the  bo- 
dy more  than  co-operated  with  the  arguments 
of  the  reasoning  fatalist.  Montesquieu  does 
not  write  like  himself  upon  the  subject;  and 
Rousseau,  who  seems  purposely  not  to  answer 
his  own  arguments  in  favour  of  suicide,  de- 
fends it  with  sentiment  instead  of  reason. — : 
Many  examples  are  given,  in  the  works  of  dif- 
ferent writers,  of  amazing  coolness  in  the  act 
of  self-destruction,  which  represent  the  stroke 
as  having  been  given  in  youth,  health,  and 
prosperity.  I  cannot  trust  to  appearances  in 
these  or  any  similar  examples ;  nor  can  I  be-, 
lieve,  that  the  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano,  with 
the  comforts  of  life,  ever  could  submit  to  an 
act  of  such  dreadful  uncertainty.  I  have, 
sometimes,  taken  up  the  argument  in  favour 
of  self-murder,  by  way  of  supporting  an  opin- 
ion, exercising  a  talent,  or  convincing  a  fool ; 
but  I  will  honestly  acknowledge,  that  the 
weakest  of  my  antagonists  have  ever  got  the 
better  of  me  on  this  subject,  though  I  might 
not  perhaps  publish  my  conviction.  Virgil's 
picture  of  the  after-misery  of  those  whose 
hands  have  given  a  prematurity  to  their  end. 


214 

would  stagger  the  utmost  sophistry  of  erring 
reason. 


-Quatn  vellent  sctherc  in  alto 


Paupcriem  paii  et  duros  perferre  labores  ! 

Despair,  as  it  arises  from  very  different  and 
opposite  causes,  has  various  and  distinct  ap- 
pearances. It  has  its  rage,  its  gloom,  and  its 
indifference  ;  and  while,  under  the  former,  its 
operations  acquire  the  name  of  madness,  un- 
der the  latter  it  bears  the  title  of  philosophy. 
Poor  yohn  Darner  was  no  philosopher,  and 
yet  he  seems  to  have  taken  his  leap  in  the 
dark  with  the  marks  both  of  an  Epicurean  and 
a  Stoick.  He  acted  his  part  with  coolness, 
and  sought  his  preparation  in  the  mirth  of  a 
brothel. 

This  is  an  awful  subject ;  and,  in  casting 
my  eye  over  what  I  have  hastily  written  upon 
it,  I  observe  some  inaccuracies  which  I  should 
be  glad  to  correct.  But  it  is  not  my  office, 
nor  is  it  in  my  pretensions,  to  instruct  you. 
When  you  are  here,  I  will  amuse  you  with  a 
pamphlet,  which,  without  that  particular  view, 
is  a  complete  physical,  or  rather  anatomical, 
reply  to  those  who  defend  the  right  of  self- 
murder.  It  is  a  treatise  on  the  Ganglions  of 
the  Nerves,  by  a  Doctor  Johnstone,  a  physi- 
cian in  my  neighbourhood.  It  is  written  with 


215 

the  pen  of  a  scholar,  and  possesses  through- 
out a  most  perspicuous  ingenuity.  This  gen- 
tleman attended  my  father  in  his  last  illness  ; 
and  was  not  only  his  physician,  but  his  con- 
fessor. 

Your  letter  to  me  consists  of  four  lines,  and 
I  have  returned  as  many  page".  This  kind 
of  illegal  interest  is  not  after  my  usual  fash- 
ion ;  but  your  kindness  deserves  an  hundred 
fold  from 

Your  affectionate,  &c. 


LETTER  XLFIII. 


YOU  are  not  the  only  one  of  my  many 
criticising  friends,  who  have  expressed  their 
surprize  at  my  taking  so  kindly  to  the  Surry 
Dell,  and  becoming  so  dead  to  rural  magnifi- 
cence as  to  neglect  Hagley's  gaudy  scene  and 

proud  domain.     C H ,  in  one  of  her 

visits  to  this  place,  told  me  that  I  looked  like 
a  toad  in  a  hole.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is 
shady,  elegant,  convenient,  luxuriant,  and 
snug ;  a  term  peculiar  to  English  comfort,  and 
not  translated  into  any  other  language.  Be- 
sides, a  villa  is  a  necessary  appendage  to  that 
rank  whose  dignity  you  so  often  recommend 
me  to  maintain ;  and  in  what  spot  could  a  Brit- 
ish peer  find  a  more  delightful  retreat  than 
mine,  to  solace  himself  in  the  interval  of  pub- 
lick  duty  ?  Or  where  is  the  JEgerian  grot,  in 
whose  auspicious  solitude  he  could  better  hold 
his  secret  counsels  with  the  guardian  Genius 
of  his  country.  But,  badinage  apart,  its  vi- 
cinity to  the  metropolis  is  one  of  its  principal 
recommendations  ;  and,  to  a  man  of  my  ten- 


217 

dencies,  a  cottage  at  Pimlico  is  preferable  to  a 
palace  in  the  distant  counties.  Here  I  .find 
no  inconvenience  in. a  rainy  day :  the  means 
of  dissipating  a  gloomy  temper  are  within  my 
beckon.  If  I  wish  to  be  alone,  I  can  shut  my 
gates  and  exclude  the  world  ;  or,  if  I  want 
society,  my  post-chaise  will  quickly  bear  me 
hence,  or  fetch  it  here.  On  the  contrary — 
Haglty,  which  is  certainly  an  Elysian  scene, 
uniting  in  itself  grandeur,  beauty,  and  conve- 
nience, does  not  possess  any  of  these  advan, 
tages  ;  and  I  might  die  there  of  ennui,  before 
any  thing  like  the  necessary  remedy  could  be 
found.  In  that  spot,  all  delightful  as  it  is,  I 
cannot  enjoy  the  advantage  of  the  society 
which  I  prefer ;  nor,  when  I  am  tired  of  com- 
pany, is  it  possible  for  me  to  be  alone.  The 
neighbourhood  is  extremely  populous  ;  manu- 
facturing towns  surround  me  on  all  sides  j 
turn-pike  roads  environ  me  ;  and  the  prospect 
from  every  window  in  my  house  glares  with 
such  a  variety  of  intruding  objects,  that  I 
have  been  often  thankful  to  the  shades  oi 
night  for  giving  me  to  tranquillity  and  to  my- 
self. Besides,  the  parish-church  is  in  my 
park;  and  I  have  more  than  once  awoke  from 
brilliant  dreams,  by  the  cackling  of  gossips  irt 
full  trot  to  a  christening ;  nay,  I  have  some- 

D  D 


218 

times  shuddered  to  see  on  my  splendid  lawns 
the  dirges  due  and  sad  array  of  the  ru stick  fu- 
neral. But  this  is  not  all.  Coaches  full  of 
travellers  of  all  denominations,  and  troops  of 
holiday  neighbours,  are  hourly  chasing  me  from 
my  apartments,  or,  by  strolling  about  the  en- 
virons, keep  me  a  prisoner  in  it.  The  lord 
of  the  place  can  never  call  it  his  for  a  day  du- 
ring the  finer  part  of  the  year.  Nor  am  I 
proud,  as  others  have  been,  of  holding  my- 
self forth  to  the  complimentary  envy  of  those 
who  come  to  visit  it.  My  pride  is  not  of  that 
complexion ;  and  the  consciousness  of  pos- 
sessing the  first  place  of  its  kind  in  Europe, 
is  a  sufficient  satisfaction  to  me,  without  shew- 
ing any  preference  to  it  as  a  rural  residence. 

The  little  spot  from  whence  I  have  the  plea- 
sure to  address  you,  has  won  my  fondest  at- 
tachment. H- left  me  this  morning.  We 

passed  the  whole  of  yesterday  evening  in 
searching  into  the  nature  of  the  soul,  and  con- 
triving ways  and  means  for  the  final  dissolu- 
tion of  the  world.  We  are  neither  of  us 
qualified  to  make  any  great  figure  in  astrono- 
my or  metaphysicks  ;  nevertheless,  we  became 
very  familiar  with  the  heavenly  bodies,  and 
discoursed,  with  a  most  imposing  gravity,  on 
matter  and  spirit.  We  exercised  all  our  ingc- 


219 

nuity  to  find  out  in  what  part  of  the  human 
frame  the  soul  had  fixed  her  abode,  but  were 
totally  unable  to  make  the  discovery,    till  our 
friend,  with  his  usual  singularity  of  thought, 
determined  it  to  be  in  every  part  where  there 
is  sensation,  and,  particularly,  in  those  parts 
where  sensation  is  most  exquisite.     But,  as  it 
is  much  easier  to  pull  down  systems  than   to 
establish  them,  we  destroyed  the  globe,  and 
all  that  it  inherits,  with  surprising  expedition. 
A  comet  was  seized  upon  by  both  of  us,  at 
the  same  moment,  as  the  engine  to  be  employ- 
ed in  the  tremendous  conflagration.    The  con- 
test for  the  originality  of  this  idea  was  carried 
on,  with  equal  zeal  between  us,  for  some  time, 
which  my  antagonist  concluded  by  introducing 
another  very  interesting  subject  for  enquiry: 
Whether  the  great  day  of  judgment  was  to 
precede,  accompany,  or  follow  this  great  event 
of  the  world's  dissolution  ?    In  the  course  of 
his  harangue,    he  rose  to   such   a  fervour  of 
thought,  delivered  such  forcible  language,  and 
intermingled  such   striking  expressions  from 
the  scriptures,  that  he  grew  pale  beneath  his 
own  conceptions.    The  alarm  was  contagious, 
and  made   my  blood  curdle   in  its  veins.     I 
verily  believe,  if  a  rattling  thunder-storm  had 
immediately   followed  his   oration^    that   our 


-JO 

confusion  would  have  been  too  serious  to  have 
admitted  of  an  acknowledgment.  The  two 
ladies,  who  composed  our  audience,  were 
thrown  into  such  a  terrour  of  mind,  that  I  be- 
gan to  apprehend  the  evening's  amusement 
would  have  concluded  in  sending  two  hand- 
some and  useful  women  to  the  Magdalen.  My 
house,  with  all  its  advantages,  is  not  calcula- 
ted for  the  actual  work  of  contrition,  though 
it  may  prepare  the  way  for  it ;  and  if  such  a 
scene  of  repentance  had  really  happened,  it 
would  have  constituted  an  sera  in  my  life  suf- 
ficient to  seduce  the  attention  of  mankind 
frotji  all  the  past  singularities  of  it. 

I  remain, 


221 

LETTER  XLIX. 


MY  DEAR 


I  HAVE  obeyed  your  commands, 
read,    with  a  very  continued  attention,    Des 
Recherchcs  sur  le  Despotisme  Oriental.     The 
author  is  a  person  of  considerable  erudition, 
active  thought,    and  lively  imagination.     He 
steers  his  vessel  with  no  common  address  on 
the  ocean  of  conjecture,    and    I  have  beheld 
his  course  with  much  admiration.-  But  though 
he  may  help  to  forward  an  advanced  progress 
in  infidelity,     I  cannot  natter   him  with  the 
supposition  that  he  alone  has  ever  made  an 
infidel.     The  paradox  of   primitive   theocra- 
cies, I  believe,  is  not  a  new  one,  though  he 
may  have  given  it  a  novelty  of  examination, 
and  branched  it  forth  into  a  variety  of  new 
ramifications.     A  writer,    who  strikes  at  the 
very  root  of  sacred  history,    which  has  been 
an  object  of  faith  to  so  great  a  part  of  the 

more  enlightened  world  for  such  a  course  of 
ages,  and  possesses  the  support  of  collateral 
tradition,  as  well  as  a  supernatural  strength 
of  internal  evidence — such  an  author,  I  say, 
should  produce  something  more  than  hypothe- 


sis,    though    supported  by  the  most  colossal 
strength  of  human  erudition :  nay,  it  may  not 
be  the  least,  among  the  many  arguments,  in 
favour  of  the   sacred   writings,    that  nothing 
but  hypothesis  can  be  brought  against  them. 
A  faith  of  some  thousand  years  is  not  to  be 
destroyed  by  the  elaborate,    but  artificial  con- 
jectures of  a  modern  infidel.      I  will  oppose 
to  your  ingenious  Frenchman  the  learned  Mr. 
Bryant^  of  our  own  country,  whose  late  splen- 
did publication  is  an  honour  to  our  age  and 
nation.      The  Gallic  infidel   must    sink   into 
nothing  before  the  veteran  abilities  of    our 
English  believer. — These  casual  thoughts,  my 
dear  friend,  are   my  own ;   and  you  may  be 
assured,  that  I  have  not  stolen  them  from  any 
pious  page  of  my  father's  manuscript  lucu- 
brations. 

But  I  shall  quit  a  subject,  which  is  not  in 
the  ordinary  line  of  my  enquiries,  and  whereon 
I  can  only  hazard  a  few  occasional  thoughts, 
from  the  uninformed  reflections  of  the  mo- 
ment, to  thank  you  for  the  very  judicious  and 
elegant  manuscript  which  you  have  intrusted 
to  my  perusal.  It  has  all  my  praise.  The 
dialogue  is  natural ;  the  language  chaste  ;  the 
characters  finely  discriminated ;  the  sentiments 
admirably  appropriated ;  and  the  moral,  if  I 
may  use  the  expression,  irresistibly  proposed 


223 

to  the  business  and  bosom  of  the  reader.  I 
will  hope  that  you  will  continue  to  gild  your 
leisure-hours  with  such  delightful  amuse- 
ments, and  that  your  philanthropick  spirit  will 
give  them  to  instruct  and  improve  mankind. 

What  think  you  of  bringing  Mrs.  Montagu 
and  Miss  Carter  upon  your  charming  theatre? 
The  similarity  of  those  ladies'  characters  in 
some  points,  and  their  dissimilitude  in  others, 
would  be  finely  portrayed  by  your  pen,  and 
might  give  you  an  opportunity  of  determining 
the  just  merits  and  standard  of  a  literary  fe- 
male. The  one  is  an  highly-instructed,  ac- 
complished woman,  possessed  of  great  afflu- 
ence, who  indulges  herself  in  a  chaste  display 
of  fashionable  as  well  as  literary  elegance, 
makes  her  drawing-room  the  Lyceum  of  the 
day,  maintains  a  luxurious  hospitality  for  the 
votaries  of  that  science  which  she  loves,  and 
patronizes  the  learning  which  she  herself  has 
adorned.  The  other,  in  a  state  of  contented 
mediocrity,  is  humble  as  though  she  knew 
nothing,  while  she  is  not  only  the  most  learned 
woman  of  any  age,  but  one  of  the  most  learn- 
ed persons  of  that  in  which  she  lives.  The 
pure,  sublime  genius,  which  never  swerves 
from  virtue,  accompanies  her  in  the  paths  of 
rigid  discretion,  and  is  contented  to  slumber, 


224 

while  its  favourite  votary  is  employed  in  the 
daily,  habitual  exercise  of  domestick  duties. — 
This  colloquy  should  take  place  between  Jus- 
tice, accompanied  by  Vanity  enforcing  reward, 
and  Merit  attended  by  Modesty,  who  will 
scarce  suffer  an  acceptance.  They  must  be 
made  to  contend,  not  for  their  own,  but  each 
other's  genius  and  virtue  ;  and  the  scene  may 
conclude  with  a  well-decorated  notice  of  that 
handsome  independence  which  the  former  has 
attached  to  the  valuable  life  of  the  latter.  The 
whole,  in  your  hands,  will  form  a  most  enter- 
taining, instructive,  and  exemplary  picture. — 
Forgive  my  impertinence,  I  beseech  you ; 
but  the  idea  came  across  me,  and  I  could  not 
resist  the  vanity  of  offering  it  to  you. 

After  all,  except  in  some  few  instances,  I 
am  not  very  partial  to  literacy  ladies :  they  are, 
generally,  of  an  impertinent,  encroaching  dis- 
position ;  and  almost  always  bring  to  my  mind 
the  female  astronomer,  who,  after  applying 
her  nocturnal  telescope,  for  a  long  series  of 
months,  and  had  raised  the  jealousy,  as  well 
as  the  expectations,  of  the  male  star-gazers, 
declared  her  only  object  was  to  discover  if 
there  were  men  in  the  moon. 

I  am,  with  great  regard 

and  admiration,  &... 


225 


LETTER  L. 


MY   DEAR   LORD, 

I  AM  not  so  dull  of  apprehension  as  to 
be  deceived  by  your  elegant  irony  on  the 
drawings  of  naked  figures  which  you  have  ac- 
cidentally seen  in  their  preparation  for  my 
cabinet.  As  works  of  art  they  have  a  claim 
to  real  admiration,  as  being  exquisite  copies 
of  nature  in  her  most  beautiful  and  interesting 
appearance.  This  you  readily  acknowledge  ; 
but  seem  rather  to  hint  at  the  very  great  im- 
propriety of  suffering  such  representations  to 
be  held  forth  to  publick  view.  In  the  applica- 
tion, at  least,  this  idea  of  your  Lordship's  is 
somewhat  erroneous :  these  designs  are  des- 
tined to  be  the  ornaments  of  my  private  dress- 
ing room,  sanctum  sanctorum^  into  which  they 
alone  are  admitted,  whose  steady  virtue  or  ex- 
perience of  the  world  will  enable  them  to  look, 
without  any  immoral  sensation,  on  the  works 
of  a  far  more  lascivious  pencil  than  that  which 
I  have  employed. 

K  F, 


226 

The  arguments  which  you  have  directed 
against  my  drawings,  might  be  turned,  with 
no  small  success,  against  the  creative  arts  of 
painting  and  sculpture.  I  really  feel  a  vast 
weight  of  matter  rushing  upon  me ;  but,  for 
your  sake,  I  will  resist  its  impulse,  and  ac- 
knowledge with  you,  that  a  different  species  of 
decoration  is  more  suitable  to  common  apart- 
ments, where  promiscuous  companies  of  ei- 
ther sez  and  every  age  are  received ;  though 
a  copy  of  Titian's  Venus  and  the  naked  boys 
of  Dominic/lino  grace  your  with-drawing- 
room;  not  forgetting  the  sacrifice  to  Priapus, 
which  is  a  principal  ornament  of  your  library. 
You  have  had  the  precaution,  it  is  true,  to 
hang  a  curtain  before  the  former,  which,  I  do 
insist,  by  tempting  the  guess  of  curious  and 
sportive  fancies,  to  say  no  worse,  is  a  more 
actual  promoter  of  blushing  reflections,  than 
the  most  open  exposure  of  those  naked  charms 
that  are  obscured  by  it.  Indeed,  my  Lord, 
your's  is  a  false  delicacy  as  applied  to  me,  and 
unjust  as  proceeding  from  one  who  is  himself 
guilty  of  similar  and  even  worse  practices.  I 
really  should  have  supposed,  that  an  enthusi- 
asm for  the  fine  arts,  and  the  repeated  tour  of 
Italy,  would  have  taught  you  better.  The 
etegantiutn  formarum  spectator  is  a  character. 


227 

that,  I  should  imagine,  would  ever  command 
your  esteem :    nor  could  it  have  entered  into 
my  belief,  that  you,  who  look  with  such  fre- 
quent admiration  on  your  fine  set  of  engrav- 
ings after,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough's  valuable   cabinet  of  antique  gems, 
would  have  ventured  at  any  thing  like  a  re- 
monstrance on  my  far  more  inanimate  seraglio. 
The   unfledged  youth,    who  begins  to  feel 
an  unknown  something  running  through  his 
veins,  for  a  short  time  might  be  affected  by 
•such  unveiled  representations ;  but  to  men  of 
our  age  and  experience,    they  would  rather 
serve  to  create   indifference,    by  continually 
presenting   to   us    images    of    those    objects, 
whose  novelty  is  one  of  the  principal  causes 
of  their  influence  upon  us.     Some  of  the  an- 
cient nations  exhibited  the  different  sexes  na- 
ked to  each  other,  in  order  to  smother  that  in- 
flammatory  sensibility  of  nature,  which  you 
suppose  the  paintings  of  naked  beauty,  con- 
tinually before  my  eyes,    must  be  capable  of 
continually  inspiring.      Upon  my  word,    you 
give  me  a  combustible  temparament  which  I 
do  not  possess ;  and,  if  you  judge  of  me,  in 
this  particular,    from  yourself,    I   give  your 
Lordship  joy  of  the  very  great  advantage  you 
have  over  me.     Without  entering"  further  into 


the  argument,  which,  if  duly  pursued,  of  a 
moderate  letter  would  make  a  long  treatise,  I 
shall  only  observe,  that  the  mode  of  dress, 
now  adopted  by  our  women  of  fashion,  is 
more  seducing  and  inflammatory,  and  has  a 
more  direct  tendency  to  call  forth  loose  affec- 
tions in  our  sex,  than  any  painted  represen- 
tation of  female  beauty,  though  finished  by 
the  exquisite  pencil  of  Titian  himself.  Your 
Lordship's  Venus  reposes,  with  little  interrup- 
tion, behind  her  curtain ;  while  the  ladies  of 
the  world  unfold  to  every  eye  that  share  of 
their  charms  which  are  best  calculated  to  se- 
duce it,  and  to  fill  the  fancy  with  the  idea  of 
more  winning  beauties,  which  the  mantle  of 
lashion  does  not,  as  yet,  disdain  to  cover. 

I  called  at  your  door  to  laugh  with  you  up- 
on the  subject  of  your  reproof;  and,  though 
you  had  taken  your  flight  to  Bath,  I  was  re- 
solved that  you  should  not  escape  me. — Per- 
haps you  have  not  heard  of  Cosway's  misfor- 
tune. In  a  pitched  battle  with  his  monkey, 
he  has  been  completely  worsted,  and  now 
keeps  his  bed  from  the  wounds  he  received  in 
the  combat.  I  have,  however,  the  pleasure 
to  tell  you,  that  the  hand  of  your  little  Ra- 
phael has  escaped  the  fury  of  his  antagonist, 
and  is  still  reserved  to  delight  every  lover  of 


its  art ;  but,  as  there  is  a  grievous  laceration 
in  one  of  his  legs,  there  is  some  reason  to 
fear  that  the  important  strut  may  be  lost  for 
ever. 

I  am,  with  great  regard, 


230 


LETTER  LI. 


I  PLEAD  guilty  to  a  very  trifling  part  of 
the  charge  which  you  bring  against  me ;  but 
I  peremptorily  deny  that  the  accusing  lady  is 
a  woman  of  virtue.  Do  you  believe  that 
every  wife,  who  does  not  advance  into  the 
guilt  of  adultery,  is  a  virtuous  character  ?  Is 
it  your  opinion,  that  every  unmarried  lady, 
who  does  not  keep  an  handsome  footman,  or 
make  an  occasional  retreat  into  the  country,  to 
drink  ass's  milk  for  a  dropsy,  has  a  right  to 
boast  of  chastity  ?  Alas !  sir,  I  know  many 
of  these,  and  hear  daily  of  more,  who,  though 
they  have  not  been  guilty  of  what  is  pre-emi- 
nently called  a  criminal  deviation  from  the 
nuptial  vow  or  virgin  honour,  possess  more 
unchaste  minds,  than  many  of  those  forlorn 
wretches  who  gain  their  daily  bread  by  the 
miserable  trade  of  nocturnal  prostitution. 

Your  artful,  angry,  or  disappointed  rela- 
tion (for  I  have  not  yet  decided  which  of  these 
epithets  is  most  applicable  to  her  present  sit- 


231 

tiation)  makes  out  a  strange  and  horrid  story 
from  the  ordinary  occurrence  of  an  accidental 
half-hour's  tete  a  tete.  I  found  her,  par  haz- 
ard, alone,  and  in  those  spirits  which  seem- 
ed to  ask  for  that  kind  of  libcnme-badinage^ 
which  in  her  more  sober  humour  would  not 
have  been  exerted.  The  idle  raillery  was  par- 
ried by  her  with  much  skill  and  coquetry : 
she  neither  retired  into  another  room,  nor 
rung  for  a  servant  to  show  me  the  door,  or 
even  discovered  a  gleam  of  disapprobation  by 
a  moment's  gravity.  On  the  contrary,  she 
pressed  my  longer  stay,  and  at  my  departure 
reproached  me  for  the  infrequency  of  my 
visits.  But,  stung  with  the  mortification  that 
her  upbraidings  were  thrown  away  (excuse, 
I  beseech  you,  the  necessary  vanity  of  my 
justification)  she  has  thought  proper  to  cry 
aloud  against  me,  to  revenge  what  she  might 
consider  as  a  neglect,  or,  perhaps,  to  make 
the  world  believe  that  she  was  still  capable  of 
inspiring  such  a  violence  of  passion,  which  in 
her  history  so  irresistably  impelled  me  to 
make  an  adventurous  attack  upon  her  virtue. 
It  really  concerns  me,  that  you  should  be,  at 
once,  the  engine  of  her  malicious  rage,  and 
the  dupe  of  your  own  amiable  credulity.  Her 
threats,  though  they  were  to  take  her  own 


232 

shape,  would  not  alarm  me  ;  but  she  knows 
too  much  of  the  wicked  world  to  put  them  in 
execution — believe  me,  my  friend,  she  will 
not  give  her  many  enemies  such  advantage 
over  her. 

I  shall  plead  guilty,  in  a  more  general  man- 
ner, to  another  charge  which  your  accusing 
spirit  has  brought  against  me — that  I  have  a 
decided  ill  opinion  of  our  co-temporary  wo- 
men in  high  life.  The  corruption  of  the  pres- 
ent times  is  in  no  degree  so  strongly  marked 
as  by  the  modern  profligacy  of  female  man- 
ners. Examine  the  catalogue  of  those  ladies, 
whose  rank,  beauty,  accomplishments,  or  for- 
tune, give  them  an  influence  in  the  great  world, 
and  then  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  pres- 
ent state  of  superiour  female  character.  Is 
their  rank  employed  to  give  an  example  to  the 
inferiour  orders  ?  Is  their  beauty  exerted  in 
the  various  services  of  virtue  ?  Are  their  ac- 
complishments exercised  in  confirming  and 
prolonging  the  duration  of  virtuous  affection  ?• 
And  is  their  fortune  taxed  with  relief  to  pov- 
erty, encouragement  to  arts,  or  protection  to 
science,  otherwise  than  in  subservience  to  the 
caprices  of  fashion  ?  Is  a  simplicity  of  char- 
acter visible  in  female  youth  after  fourteen 
years  of  age  ?  And  does  not  the  reign  of  co- 


238 

quetry  commence  before,  and  often  times  long 
before,  that  period  ?  Trace  the  course  of  fash- 
ionable education  from  the  cradle  to  the  altar ; 
examine  with  attention  the  efforts  and  views 
of  maternal  tenderness,  in  the  circle  of  your 
own  society  ;  and  tell  me  where  is  that  per- 
fection of  female  character  to  be  found — for 
it  might  every  where  exist — which  can  awe 
the  most  dissolute  into  respect  and  admiration  ? 
You  must  very  well  know,  that  the  passion  of 
the  most  impassioned  is  very  rarely  indeed 
so  irresistible  as  to  inflame  with  the  design  of 
carrying  the  fortress  of  chastity  by  a  coup  de 
main  ;  and  when  such  attempts  are  made,  it 
is  some  visible  breach  in  the  out-works  which 
encourages  to  that  fierce  mode  of  conquest* 
A  chaste,  virtuous  woman  is  an  awful  char- 
acter :  something  supernatural  seems  to  sur- 
round and  shroud  her  from  the  profane  ap- 
proaches of  seduction.  Innocence  may  be 
seduced,  and  ignorance  may  be  deceived  ;  but 
chastity,  founded  on  the  firm  basis  of  pure 
virtue,  holds  forth  to  the  eye  of  the  most  art- 
ful, as  well  as  the  most  rampant  lust,  the  re- 
pulsive evidence  of  impregnable  security. 

You  must  well  remember  where  we  dined 
together  not  many  weeks  ago  ;  nor  can  it  have 
been  possible  for  you  to  forget  the  friendly  ap- 


234 

prehensions  which  our  hostess  expressed  lest 
the  House  of  Commons  should  detain  Mr.  — 

— ,  as  she  was  sure  Lady would  not  be 

in  tolerable  humour  if  he  was  not  of  the  par- 
ty. At  length,  however,  they  both  came, 
were  carefully  placed  together  at  table,  and 
seemed  in  perfect  contentment.  Now,  all  this 
pretty  business  was  managed  in  chaste  society, 
and  in  a  virtuous  house  ;  nevertheless,  it  ap- 
peared to  me,  that  the  mistress  of  it,  even  in 
the  presence  of  her  daughters,  did  little  less 
than  promote  the  progress  of  adultery.  This, 
you  see,  is  so  common  an  arrangement,  that 
Mrs.  - — — ,  who  holds  herself  forth  as  a  wo- 
man of  renowned  discretion,  considered  it  as 
a  matter  of  course.  I  wonder  much  that  you 
will  suffer  such  rare  virtue,  as  dwells  in  that 
most  amiable  woman  whom  you  possess,  to 
risk  the  taint,  of  such  societies. 

I  would  forgive  the  artifice  of  dress,  and 
the  little  hypocrisies  of  personal  decoration  ; 
they  originate  from  a  desire  to  please,  and  can 
never  produce  any  fatality  of  deception :  but 
the  wearing  a  mask  upon  the  mind,  and  the 
giving  a  falacious  appearance  to  character,  is 
a  forgery  that  becomes  oftentimes  more  fatal 
to  happiness  and  honour,  than  a  crime  of  the 
same  title  which  never  finds  mercy.  How 


many  women  are  there  now  flaunting  about 
our  world,  who  have  made  use  of  the  falsest 
pretences  to  obtain  a  settlement  and  an  hus- 
band; and,  when  they  have  succeeded,  not 
only  throw  aside  the  painted  veil  which  cover- 
ed them,  but  laugh  at  the  poor  hapless  dupe 
who  reproaches  their  duplicity  ! 

They  daub  their  tempers  o'er  with  washes 
As  artificial  as  tl.e'.r  faces  j 

and  while  some  of  them  condescend  to  appear 
charming,  both  in  mind  and  person,  to  all  the 
world,  poor  Benedick,  who  possesses  the  en- 
vied privilege  of  going  behind  the  curtain,  a- 
lone  sees  the  decomposition  of  that  beauty  and 
virtue  which  leaves  not  a  look  or  a  wish  to 
please  behind  them. 

That  excellent  woman,  whom  you  have  the 
supreme  happiness  to  call  your  own,  is,  as  I 
have  been  told,  the  only  one  of  her  sex  who 
deigns  to  say  a  word  in  my  favour.  The  rea- 
son, my  dear  sir,  is  evident :  she  is  the  only  one 
I  know  who  possesses  a  sufficient  share  of  real, 
intrinsick  virtue,  to  keep  me,  in  her  presence, 
in  the  most  patient  and  satisfactory  decorum. 
Those  charms  which,  while  they  allure,  cor- 
rect, and,  while  they  delight,  improve,  are  of 
rare  growth  ;  and  it  becomes  the  interest  of  a 
corrupt  world  to  employ  its  contagion  to  their 


236 

destruction.  This  is  a  language  which  you 
might  not  expect  from  such  an  incorrigible  sin- 
ner as  I  am  ;  but  believe  me,  it  is  that  of  all 
the  tribe  when  reason  resumes  her  lucid  in- 
terval :  and  if  the  women  of  coquetry,  vani- 
ty, and  intrigue,  knew  how  much  their  most 
devoted,  admired,  and  familiar  favourites,  at 
times  despise  and  speak  of  them,  they  would 
have  recourse  to  the  sincerity  of  virtue,  to 
obtain  honest  praise,  real  admiration,  and  so- 
lid pleasure. 

,  It  will  afford  me  no  small  satisfaction  to  hear 
that  I  have  laid  your  spirit  of  censure,  and 
that  on  this  subject  at  least  it  will  haunt  me  no 
more  :  for,  though  publick  severity  hardens  me 
more  and  more  against  publick  opinion,  I 
should  ever  wish  to  justify  myself  to  you, 

when  I  possess  the  means  of  justification. 

You  will  do  me  the  favour  to  present  my  very 

sincere  respects   to  Mrs. ,  and  receive 

the  affectionate  regard  of 

Your  faithful,  &c. 


237 


LETTER  LIL 


I  WISHED,  for  many  reasons,  that  you 
could  have  accompanied  me  hither :  but  ano- 
ther is  now  added  to  the  number,  by  an  un- 
pleasant indisposition  that  has  hung  upon  me 
for  some  time  ;  and,  though  it  does  not  keep 
me  at  home,  it  deprives  me  of  any  and  every 
enjoyment  when  I  go  abroad.  I  want  you  to 
console  me,  to  assist  my  present  tendency  to 
grave  speculations,  and  to  behold  me  an  ex- 
ample of  your  favorite  proposition,  that  man 
is  a  superstitious  animal.  A  being  continually 
agitated  by  hopes  and  fears,  is  naturally  dis- 
posed to  consider  every  trivial  occurrence  as 
an  omen  of  his  good  or  evil  fortune.  The  hot 
and  cold  fits  of  life,  from  one  or  other  of  which 
we  are  seldom  free,  keep  the  mind  in  that 
tremulous  state  of  suspense  which  makes  rea- 
son subservient  to  the  sickly  power  of  imagin- 
ation. Common  superstition  is  awakened  by 
the  eager  pursuit  of  the  most  common  objects, 
and  is  particularly  visible  in  those  who  attend 


258 

upon  the  nightly  orgies  of  the  god  of  game ; 
where  the  force  of  lucky  and  unlucky  omens 
is  strongly,  as  well  as  universally  impressed. 

Women,  and  men  who  resemble  women, 
are  supposed,  from  extreme  fear  of  disap- 
pointment, to  be  very  generally  disposed  to 
the  habit  of  drawing  idle  consequences  from 
every  trivial  event.  But  wherefore  do  I  ven- 
ture an  imputation  against  the  weaker  sex,  or 
the  less  resolute  part  of  my  own,  when  a  mo- 
ment's reflection  convinces  me  that  the  strong- 
est mind  cannot  always  resist  the  same  influ- 
ence ;  and  that  it  is  not  in  the  utmost  perfec- 
tion of  human  nature  to  boast  a  perfect  supe- 
riority over  it.  The  wide  extent  of  antiquity 
is  full  of  it :  the  flight  of  birds  and  the  entrails 
of  beasts  determined  the  fate  of  kings  and 
the  prosperity  of  nations.  The  vision  of  the 
night,  and  the  awakening  hour,  gave  a  colour 
of  good  or  evil  to  the  succeeding  day ;  and 
the  unwieldy  code  of  proverbial  wisdom  is 
indebted  for  its  bulk  to  the  liberal  aid  of  preg- 
nant superstition  :  nay,  were  I  to  explore  the 
modern  and  more  rational  system  of  late  ages, 
it  would  only  be  tracing  a  more  extensive 
chart  of  human  credulity. 

This  propensity  of  the  mind,  which  is  tri- 
lling and  transitory  in  the  course  of  ordinary 


259 

occurrences,  becomes  a  grievous  and  oppress- 
ive weight,  when,  from  the  frowns  of  for- 
tune, or  the  languors  of  disease,  it  passes 
from  this  world  to  another.  When  the  frame 
begins  to  discover  symptoms  of  decay,  when 
its  pains  and  debility  fix  the  gloomy  idea  of  an 
eternal  separation  upon  a  mind  unused  to  sim- 
ilar, or  perhaps  any  serious  contemplations, 
there  is  no  alternative  but  Stoical  apathy  or 
fanciful  superstition.  I  am  not  disposed  to 
admit  the  possibility  of  the  former;  or,  at 
least,  it  is  beyond  the  reach  of  my  nature  to 
attain  it :  I  must,  therefore,  submit  to  the  lat- 
ter, and  endeavour  to  shelter  my  weakness 
under  that  of  all  mankind  in  all  ages  of  the 
world. 

Will  you  believe  me,  when  I  tell  you,  that 
in  a  morning's  ride,  which  conducted  me  by 
some  of  the  tremendous  fires  employed  in  the 
manufactories  in  my  neighbourhood,  I  shud- 
dered at  the  sight  of  their  angry  flames,  and 
expressed  my  sensations  to  the  young  lady  I 
accompanied,  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  make 
her  cheek  pale  as  my  own  ? — It  has  been  ob- 
served by  some  wicked  wit,  and  I  believe  by 
Voltaire — for  the  thought  is  of  his  cast — that, 
on  the  morning  of  the  thirtieth  of  January, 
every  sovereign  in  Europe  rises  with  a  crick 


in  his  neck.  Now,  you  may  apply  this  idea, 
for  your  amusement,  to  the  alarms  I  have  just 
described.  I  am  sinner  enough  to  justify  the 
application,  and  am,  at  present,  humble  enough 
to  acknowledge  the  truth  of  it.  The  same 
shrewd  genius  declared,  when  he  was  out  of 
humour  with  a  certain  race  of  kings,  que  tons, 
les  Bourbons  craignent  le  diable :  nevertheless, 
(for  I  am  determined  to  be  even  with  him,)  if 
any  credit  is  to  be  given  to  general  and  uniform 
report,  the  lively  satirist  was  himself  subject 
to  certain  fits  of  despondency,  when  he  suf- 
fered severely  from  similar  apprehensions. 
Mors  instans  mnnina  majora  facit. 

Tranquillity,  I  am  told,  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary for  the  restoration  of  my  body ;  but,  in 
submitting  to  the  proposed  remedy  for  my 
corporal  infirmities,  I  shall  certainly  acquire 
all  the  horrours  of  intellectual  disease,  if  you 
do  not  hasten  to  console  me.  If  you  re- 
fuse me  your  temporal  comforts,  I  shall  be 
under  the  necessity  of  applying  to  the  rever- 
end John  Wcstly  (who,  according  to  the  Bir- 
mingham paper,  is  preaching  about  the  neigh- 
bourhood,) to  assist  me  with  his  spiritual 
elixir. 

was  here  last  week,  and  happy 

beyond  expression  in  the  full  enjoyment  of 


241 

rural  luxury ;  but  the  beautiful  scenes,  which 
filled  his  mind  with  such  mad  and  mortifying 
delight,  are  viewed,  by  my  jaundiced  eye, 
with  less  than  indifference :  though,  when  he 
exclaimed, 

Rura  mihi,  et  rigui  placeant  in  vallibus  amnesj 
Flumina  arnem  sylvasque  inglorius; 

a  moment's  feeble  inspiration  enabled  me  to 
add, 

O  ubi  campi, 

Sperchiusque,  et  virgivilnu  bacchata  Lacxnit 
Taygeta  ! 

Adieu,  and  believe  me,  &c.  &:c. 


I  have  this  moment  received  a  letter  ffcm 

,  which  proves  him  to  be  the^iost  un- 
grateful villain  in  existence.  This  convic- 
tion has,  I  believe,  forced  an  unexpected 
glow  upon  my  wan  countenance.  It  may 
be  for  the  best,  that  my  immediate  indispo- 
sition prevents  me  from  honouring  the  ras- 
cal with  a  reproach. 

, 


G  G 


LETTER  LIIL 


MY  DEAR 


THE  letter,  which  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  receiving  from  you  yesterday,  afforded  me 
all  the  satisfaction  I  had  so  much  reason  to 
expect  from  it.  But  as  every  good  in  this 
world  must  have  its  alloy,  it  was  accompanied 
by  one  of  those  half-dictatorial  epistles,  which, 
under  the  colour  of  friendly  concern,  and  in 
the  garb  of  respectful  language,  contains  no 
small  degree  of  concealed  impertinence.  A 
certain  relation  of  mine  never  fails  to  pester 
me  with  a  few  of  them,  whenever  I  happen 
to  be  in  his  debt.  I  had  rather  pay  him  ten 
per  cent,  if  he  would  spare  his  counsels,  than 
have  the  loan  without  interest  and  encumbered 
with  them.  But  this  is  not  all ;  for  I  am 
obliged  to  play  the  hypocrite  against  the 
grain,  to  acknowledge  his  goodness,  to  prom- 
ise amendment,  and  so  on. 


243 

The  last  Paris  jaunt  ended  unprontably  •; 
it  emptied  my  purse,  led  me  into  difficulties, 
and  made  me  dependent  where  dependence  is 
particularly  painful  ;  to  which  may  be  added 
some  scurvy  treatment,  which  I  do  not  like  to 

think  of,  and  am  sorry  has  got  abroad. 

ought  to  have  cut  the  bully's  throat,  without 
hesitation  ;  but  he  was  a  tranquil  spectator  of 
the  business,  and  had  not  the  gratitude  to  risk 
his  own  pitiful  life  to  save  my  honour. 

When  I  seriously  reflect  on  the  miseries  of 
dependence,  by  whatever  name  it  may  be  dis- 
tinguished, I  cannot  but  admire  the  prudence, 
and  envy  the  disposition,  of  those  men  who 
preserve  themselves  above  it.  I  am  convinced, 
that  no  man  can  be  happy,  or  honourable, 
who  does  not  proportionate  his  expenses  to  the 
means  he  possesses  :  and  if  the  phrase  is  sig- 
nificant, that  describes  the  man  who  pays  ev- 
ery body,  as  above  the  world,  he,  who  has 
disabled  himself  from  pursuing  the  same  con- 
duct, must  submit  to  the  abject  idea  of  being 
beneath  it.  If  your  creditor  is  a  shoe-m?,ker, 
and  you  cannot  discharge  his  bill,  whatever 
your  rank  may  be,  he  becomes  your  superiour ; 
and  the  moment  you  put  it  out  of  your  power 
to  pay  a  servant  his  wages,  he  becomes  your 
master,  and  you  must  not  only  submit  to  his 


1^44 

impertinence,  but  connive  at  his  fraud,  in  or- 
der to  prevent  this  liveried  creditor  from  mak- 
ing his  demands.  I  tell  you  honestly,  that 
the  galled  horse  winces  on  the  occasion,  and 
that  my  withers  are  most  severely  wrung.  I 
feel  the  grief  so  sensibly,  that,  if  I  had  an 
amanuensis  at  hand,  I  should  like  to  patrol 
my  library,  and  dictate  a  discourse  on  worldly 
prudence.  The  circumspect  use  of  money, 
arising,  not  from  any  avaricious  principle,  but 
from  the  wise  practice  of  applying  means  to 
ends,  will  keep  a  man  in  that  state  of  inde- 
pendence which  is  the  rock  of  life.  On  that 
foundation  he  can  stand  firm,  return  the 
haughty  look,  smile  at  the  supercilious  frown, 
give  truth  its  due  force,  and  scorn  the  em- 
broidered lie.  You  have  a  son  ;  and  let  me 
advise  you,  while  the  smartings  of  the  mo- 
ment dictate  the  counsel,  to  instil  into  his  ten- 
der mind  the  lasting  impression  of  a  liberal 
prudence,  without  which  virtue  is  continually 
harrassed  by  necessity,  pleasure  has  but  an 
interrupted  enjoyment,  and  life  becomes  a 
chequered  scene  of  agitation  and  distress. 


-Quzrenda  petunia  primum  j 


Virtus  post  numinos.- 


But  this  by  the  way. — You  inform  me  that 
you  every  day  expect  an  increase  of  your  fam- 


iiy,  which  I  very  sincerely  hope  may  prove 
an  addition  to  your  happiness.  However,  I 
cannot  but  think  it  a  great  mistake  to  make 
merry  over  a  creature  who  is  born  to  the  same 
miseries  as  ourselves,  who,  the  first  moment 
he  draws  the  breath  of  life,  is  enrolled  in  the 
register  of  death,  and,  from  the  womb,  makes 
swift  and  direct  advances  to  the  grave.  I  am 
almost  a  convert  to  the  practice  of  the  Thra- 
cians,  who  wept  beside  the  cradle,  and  danced 
around  the  tomb.  These  opinions  will  prob- 
ably preclude  any  proposals  to  me  from  be- 
coming a  God-father.  Mrs. once  did 

me  the  honour  to  hint  something  of  that  na- 
ture :  but  I  beg  you  to  tell  her,  from  your 
own  experience,  that  I  am  too  unsanctified  a 
person  to  take  upon  me  the  character  of  a  bap- 
tismal sponsor.  You  will  then  be  so  obliging 
as  to  add,  from  me,  that  I  shall  ever  have  too 
sincere  a  regard  for  any  child  of  her's,  to  pro- 
cure it  so  ungracious  an  entrance  into  the 
Christian  Church,  as  I  am  apprehensive  that 
it  would  find,  were  I  to  be  the  officiating  ush- 
on  the  occasion. 

I  am,  with  great  regard,  &c. 


246 


LETTER  L1V 


I  RECEIVE  your  congratulations  -with 
an  unaffected  sensibility ;  but,  as  your  ap- 
plause proceeds  from  the  partiality  of  a  fa- 
vourable representation,  and  nbt  from  your 
own  immediate  experience,  I  may,  without 
impropriety,  or  any  false  show  of  modesty, 
to  which  I  am  not  very  much  habituated,  ob- 
serve, that  the  part  I  took  in  the  debate  to 
which  you  so  kindly  allude,  would  not  have 
been  so  favourably  mentioned,  if  you  had 
been  one  of  its  crowded  audience. 

I  will  tell  you,  with  great  truth,  that  it  was 
an  important  object  with  me  to  exert  the  full 
force  of  my  mind  and  talents  on  the  business 
of  that  day.  I  had  directed  all  my  thoughts 
to  that  purpose,  and  not  only  exerted  a  very 
unusual  industry  in  acquiring  the  knowledge 
necessary  to  give  my  opinions  their  due 
weight,  but  had  laboured  the  dress  in  which 
they  were  to  be  clothed,  and  attentively  com- 
posed the  decorations  which  were  to  give  the 


247 

final  embellishment.  In  short,  I  omitted  no 
mode  of  study,  reflection,  or  exercise,  which 
might  enable  me  to  force  conviction,  and  ra- 
vish applause.  But  I  succeeded  in  neither  ; 
and,  after  a  speech  of  some  length,  I  sat 
down,  oppressed  with  disappointment  and 
mortification.  Several  circumstances  unex- 
pected in  themselves,  and  untoward  in  their 
nature,  co-operated  to  the  fall  of  my  pride  on 
that  day.  In  the  morning,  while  I  was  re- 
hearsing my  part  to  A ,  by  some  mistake 

H was  admitted  to  me,  and  not  only  in- 
terrupted my  lesson,  but,  by  the  ready  com- 
munication of  his  eccentrick  flights  upon  the 
aame  subject,  threw  my  well-marshalled  band 
of  ideas  into  irretrievable  confusion.  But 
this  was  not  all ;  he  desired  to  accompany  me 
to  the  house,  and,  in  our  way  thither,  he 
seized  upon  the  bugle  ornaments  of  my 
clothes,  as  a  subject  for  still  more  discomfit- 
ing singularites  of  thought ;  so  that  I  was 
most  heartily  glad  when  my  coach  broke  down 
in  Parliament-street,  and  produced  a  separa- 
tion. The  worst,  however,  remains  behind. 
It  was  my  purpose  to  follow  the  Earl  of  Shel- 
burne  ;  and  in  consequence  of  such  a  plan,  I 
had  necessarily  pre-supposed  the  line  of  de- 
bate he  would  take,  with  the  general  turn  of 


248 

argument  he  might  adopt,  and  had  prepared 
myself  accordingly.  But  all  my  conjectures 
proved  erroneous  ;  for  that  noble  Lord  took  a 
course  so  different  from  my  pre-supposiuons, 
and  displayed  a  degree  of  political  erudition 
so  far  beyond  me,  that,  when  I  arose,  the 
confusion  between  my  prepared  thoughts,  and 
those  which  were  suggested  by  the  able  dis- 
course  of  the  foregoing  speaker,  was  so  great, 
that,  although  I  was  not  thrown  into  hesita- 
tion, I  got  so  wide  of  the  point  before  me,  as 
to  be  called  to  order  with  great  vehemence 
and  some  propriety  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  house.  This  proved  confusion  worse  con- 
founded ;  and  though  I  proceeded  with  soma 
degree  of  spirit  and  recovery,  I  sat  down,  at 
length,  with  much  self-dissatisfaction :  nor 
had  I  reason  to  think,  from  the  succeeding 
part  of  the  debate,  that  I  had  made  any  im- 
pression on  those  within  the  bar,  whatever  I 
might  have  done  among  the  tribe  of  curious 
listeners  without  it. 

This  is  the  true,  unvarnished  state  of  the 
rase  ;  and,  from  the  circumstances  of  it,  I  have 
formed  a  resolution,  which,   I  trust,  you 
approve — to  make  no  more  such  •  pre- 

paration.    I  will  give  the  announced  si 
all  the  consideration  they  desei 


249 

the  knowledge  of  them  in  my  power,  form  my 
general  principles,  and  leave  their  particular 
arrangement,  with  the  necessary  shape,  dress, 
and  delivery,  to  the  circumstances  and  im- 
pressions of  the  moment. — When  a  senator  is 
to  take  the  lead  in  a  debate,  in  order  to  intro- 
duce a  projected  motion  of  his  own,  or  is 
engaged  to  second  that  of  another,  he  may 
enter  upon  the  task  with  the  most  minute 
verbal  preparation  ;  but,  when  he  is  to  take 
his  casual  turn,  he  must  trust  to  his  feelings 
of  the  moment,  operating  upon  the  knowledge 
of  the  moment.  If  a  man,  with  the  common, 
gifts  of  speech,  possesses  a  good  store  of  the 
latter,  he  may  be  soon  habituated  to  yield 
himself  to  the  former,  with  a  certain  assurance 
of  acquiring  an  important  political  reputation. 
In  American  affairs  I  have  ever  possessed  a 
perfect  uniformity  of  opinion.  My  doctrine 
has  ever  been,  that  legislation  involves  in  it 
every  possible  power  and  exercise  of  civil 
government.  For  this  principle  I  shall  never 
cease  to  contend ;  though  I  am  forced  unwil- 
lingly to  acknowledge,  that  the  ministerial 
means  of  supporting  it  have,  at  times,  been 
very  erroneous.  But  you  may  be  assured, 
that,  if  some  better  plans  for  reinstating  Great- 
Britain  in  the  full  dominion  of  her  revolted 

H  H 


250 

colonies  be  not  pursued  (an  event  which  hu* 
inanity  at  first,  succeeded  by  mis-information 
and  later  indecision,  has  so  unfortunately  de- 
layed, but  which  is  still  practicable)  ministers 
shall  hear  the  deep-toned  energy  of  my  re- 
proach :  I  will  lift  up  my  voice  against  their 
timid  and  indecisive  counsels.  My  political 
career,  at  least,  shall  not  be  marked  with  dis- 
honour. 

I  cannot  do  better,    than,   with  the  feelings 
of  the  present  moment,  to  assure  you  of  my 
most  grateful  acknowledgements  for  the  regard 
vou  have  shown,  on  so  many  occasions,  to 
Your  most  faithful,  Sec. 


551. 


LETTER  LV. 


INDEED,  my  friend,  you  are  quite  wild 
•n  the  subject  of  eloquence.  It  may  adorn 
our  parliamentary  debates,  but  it  will  not  save 
our  country.  It  is  an  adventitious  qualifica- 
tion, that  will  do  but  little,  unless  other  more 
substantial  talents  and  attainments  are  in  alli- 
ance with  it.  An  orator,  in  Cicero's  definition 
of  the  character,  in  which,  I  suppose,  he  de- 
signed to  comprehend  himself,  combines  every 
thing  which  is  great  in  human  nature  ;  but  the 
mere  man  of  words,  metaphors,  and  impu- 
dence, in  which,  you  may  tell  me,  I  should 
comprehend  myself,  is  nothing  more  than  an 
useful  tool  in  the  hands  of  superiour  direction. 
Tow  are  very  sensible,  but  you  mistake  my 
sense.  I  did  not  declare  it  to  be  my  opinion 
that  we  had  no  orators  among  us,  but  that 
there  was  a  melancholy  dearth  of  real  states- 
men. Perhaps,  there  never  was  a  period,  in 
the  annals  of  this  or  any  other  country,  which 


has  produced  more  able  publick  speakers  than 
that  wherein  we  live.     The  system  of  attack 
and  defence,    displayed  eveiy  session  in  both 
houses  of  parliament,  produces  specimens  of 
oratorical  abilities  which   would   have   done 
honour  to  any  nation  at  any   period.     Elo- 
quence  is   a  powerful  auxiliary  to  great  poli- 
tical talents  ;  but  it  is  nothing  without  them — 
I  mean,  as  to  any  great  line  of  national  utili- 
ty.    Mr.  Edmund  Burke,  who  is  a  prodigy  in 
his  kind,  will  never  make  a  leading  statesman. 
I  do  not  know,  nor  have  I  ever  heard  of  any 
man  who  could  deliver  such  a  rapid,    correct, 
adorned,  and  highly-finished  oration,  as  fre- 
quently proceeds  from  the  instantaneous  im- 
pulse of  this  gentleman's  illuminated  faculties. 
As  a  scholar,  as  a  man  of  universal  knowl- 
edge, as  a  writer,  he  is  the  object  of  my  most 
sincere   admiration ;    but,    in  my  opinion,  he 
would  never  figure  in  office  beyond  the  board 
of  trade.     Charles  Fox's  abilities   and  elocu- 
tion are  of  a  decided  superiority  ;  but,  out  of 
the   senate,    their  exertions  would  be  of  du- 
bious expectation.     If  the  formation  of  a  new 
ministry  were  to  fall  to  my  lot,  Charles  could 
not  be  engaged  in  a  more  busy  part  than  is 
generally  allotted  to  a  vice-treasurer  of  Ireland 
As  for  Colonel  B ,  nature  designed  him 


253 

for  the  service  of  attack:  he  is  nothing  but  in 
the  house  of  commons,  nor  does  he  figure 
there  but  in  opposition.  To  muzzle  the  mas- 
tiff, he  must  have  a  place ;  for,  while  he  sat 
on  the  treasury-bench,  he  was  dumb,  and 
opened  not  his  mouih.  Lord  Weymouth  is  not 
an  orator ;  but  he  delivers  his  good  sense' with 
a  very  becoming  dignity.  The  Duke  of  G — 
— 's  speeches  are  words,  words,  words ;  but 
are  accompanied  with  an  imposing  air  of  con- 
sequence, which  tells  you,  in  every  look  of 
gesture,  and  expression,  what  the  speaker 

thinks  of  himself.     Lord  C an  orator ! — 

Where  was  your  reflection  fled,  or  in  what 
quarrel  had  you  engaged  with  reason  and 
judgment,  when  you  made  such  a  mistaken 
declaration  ?  Believe  me,  my  dear  friend,  he 
possesses  nothing  but  a  little,  literary,  spang- 
led kind  of  embroidered  politicks ;  pretty, 
decorative,  and  in  fashion  ;  but  without  any 
thing  like  solidity  of  abilities,  or  permanency 
of  character.  I  could  never  view  him  in  any 
other  light,  not  even  when  he  presided  at  a 
commission,  whose  history  should  be  blotted 
from  the  annals  of  Great-Britain. — Our  pre- 
sent Palinurus  is  by  no  means  deserving  of 
that  contempt,  which  some  men,  very  much 
his  inferiours  in  every  thing,  think  proper  to 


254 

throw  upon  him  ;  and  the  secretary  for  the 
American  department  ranks  high  among  our 
modern  politicians : — nor  must  Lord  Shelburne 
be  forgotten,  who  possesses,  in  a  brilliant  de- 
gree, the  gift  of  utterance,  and  is  a  perfect 
vade-mecum  in  politicks.  I  bear  a  willing  tes- 
timony to  Lord  Camderfs  vigourous  under- 
standing ;  and  I  possess  an  hereditary  admira- 
tion of  Lord  Mansfield's  very  superiour  talents 
and  character  :  but  the  leading  lawyers,  how- 
ever able  or  learned,  do  not  come  within  the 
compass  of  our  present  discriminations.  But 
all  the  eloquence  on  which  you  build  your 
hopes,  and  all  the  abilities  which  our  leading 
men  possess,  if  brought  into  one  aggregate 
mass  of  political  talents,  would  not  compose 
that  consummate  character  on  whom  a  nation 
might  repose  with  confidence  and  security.  Is 
there  a  man  among  us,  who  can  claim  an  equal 
share  of  ministerial  reputation  with  Mr.  Pel- 
ham  or  Mr.  George  Grenville  ? 

But  I  must  add,  for  our  consolation,  that 
our  enemies  cannot  boast  of  any  intellectual 
superiority  over  us  : — their  mistakes  have 
kept  pace  with  our  errours  :  the  catalogue  of 
their  blunders  is  not  less  bulky  than  our  own. 
Besides,  we  still  bear  ourselves  like  a  great 
people  ;  we  do  not  discover  any  marks  of  des- 


255 

pendency ;  and,  I  trust,  we  shall  continue  to 
support  our  national  character,  to  the  confu- 
sion of  our  enemies,  and  the  final  glory  of  our 
country. 

I  have  this   day  been  informed,  that  Dr. 
Price,  the  Dr.  Brown  of  the  present  day,  has 
been  formally  and   solemnly  invited  by  the 
Congress  to  take  upon  him  the  formation  and 
superintenclency  of  their  exchequer.    It  would 
gladden  my  very  soul  to  hear  that  he  was  em- 
barked for  America ;  though,  I  fear,  he  is  too 
much  of  a  self-politician  to  take  such  a  step. 
The  labours   of   his   theological  accompting- 
house  would  be  of  no  small  service  to  Great- 
Britain,  if  they  were  employed  beyond  the  At- 
tantick.     This  reverend  gentleman,  in  his  sad 
vaticinations  of  British  downfal,  shelters  him- 
self beneath  the  double  character  of  a  political 
prophet  and  Christian  divine.      If  America 
should  finally  become  independent,  the  proph- 
et will  then  exult  in  the  accomplishment  of  an 
event  which  he  has  long  foretold :  if,  on  the 
contrary,  the  power  of  Great-Britain  over  her 
colonies  should  be  re-established,  the  Calvin- 
istical  cant  of  the  divine  must  display  itself 
in  an  humble,   submissive  resignation  to  the 
dispensations  of  Heaven. 

I  am.  with  great  regard,  £cc. 


256 


LETTER  LFL 


MY   DEAR   SIR, 

I  ACKNOWLEDGE,  with  a  very  serious 
concern,  the  indecisive  and  sluggish  spirit  of 
the  present  administration.  This  political 
temper  of  our  leading  statesmen  was  amiable 
in  its  origin,  perhaps  pardonable  in  its  pro- 
gress, but  is  equally  unaccountable  and  dis- 
graceful, to  say  no  worse,  at  this  very  im- 
portant period.  The  humanity  of  the  royal 
breast,  co-operating  with  the  moderate  spirit 
of  his  immediate  councils,  and  the  general 
disposition  of  the  nation,  produced  those  lin- 
gering measures  in  the  beginning  of  the  pre- 
sent troubles,  which  encouraged  the  insolence 
of  democratick  ambition.  If  half  the  regi- 
ments, which  have  hitherto  been  employed 
in  vain,  with  a  proportionable  fleet,  had  cross- 
ed the  Atlantick  at  the  early  period  of  the 
American  revolt,  the  mishapen  legions  of 
rebellion  would  have  been  awed  into  submis- 


257 

sion,  and  the  numerous  loyal  inhabitants  would 
have  had  a  strong-hold  to  which  they  might 
have  resorted  for  protection,  instead  of  being 
urged,  by  the  hopes  of  preserving  their  me- 
naced property,  to  join  the  standard  of  rebel- 
lion, to  which,  by  seduction,  by  habit,  or  by 
necessity,  many  of  them  vowed,  and  some  of 
them  have  proved,  their  fidelity. 

This  humane  disposition  of  government 
towards  the  colonies,  which  has  proved  a  fa- 
tal  errour  in  the  politicks  of  our  day,  naturally 
led  to  another,  which  arose  from  the  placing 
a  confidence  in,  and  drawing  their  intelligence 
from,  men,  some  of  whom  I  imagine,  were 
as  deficient  in  judgment  as  the  rest  were  in 
honesty ;  I  mean  the  American  refugees.  By 
their  suggestions  ministers  were  influenced  to 
continue  the  inactive  line  of  conduct,  till  in- 
dependence was  thundered  in  their  ears,  and 
circumstances  seemed  to  announce  that  alli- 
ance which  has  since  taken  place  between  the 
natural  enemies  of  this  country  and  its  revolt- 
ed subjects.  Permit  me  to  observe,  that,  in 
the  early  period  of  this  unhappy  business, 
the  nation  at  large  seemed  indisposed  to  adopt 
the  measures  of  fire  and  sword.  The  peo- 
ple, very  generally,  hoped  and  believed,  that 
the  alternate  anathemas  and  conciliatory  pro- 

i  i 


253 

positions  of  rtur  acts  of  parliament  would  have 
answered  their  beneficial  intentions  of  quiet- 
ing the  disorders  of  the  colonies  ;  and  I  verily 
believe,  if,  at  the  period  to  which  I  allude,  a 
parliamentary  motion  had  been  made  to  pn> 
vide  for  the  sending  a  large  fleet  and  army, 
\vith  an  active  design,  to  America,  that  min- 
isterial power  would  have  met  with  a  very  nu- 
merous and  respectable  opposition  :  nor  would 
the  humanity  of  the  nation  at  large  have  been 
satisfied  with  a  design  which  portended  .the 
slaughter  of  British  subjects;  while  faction 
would  have  lifted  up  its  voice  against  it,  as 
being  framed  upon  the  principle  of  extending, 
with  drawn  swords  and  bayonets  fixed,  the 
powers  of  corruption,  and  the  influence  of 
the  crown.  I  again  repeat,  that,  at  this  time, 
there  was  a  very  general  aversion  in  the  Brit- 
ish nation  from  entering  seriously  into  the 
contest ;  for,  even  after  the  Americans  had 
published  their  separation  from  Grea-t-Britain, 
and  hostilities  were  actually  commenced,  the 
exertions  of  British  valour  were  languid,  and 
the  rebels,  at  least  on  the  sea,  gained  more  ad- 
vantages than  they  have  since  done  with  the 
open  alliance  of  France  and  the  secret  aid  of 
Spain.  .  When  that  unnatural  union  took 
place,  the  British  nation  underwent  a  prci'y 


259 

general  and  very  sudden  change  in  senti- 
ments ;  and  many  of  the  most  rational  friends 
of  America  could  no  longer  corfsider  its  inha- 
bitants as  fellow-subjects,  when  they  humbly 
^mplored  the  ready  ambition  of  France  to  sup- 
port them  in  their  disobedience  to  their  lawful 
sovereign. 

At  this  period,  I  must  acknowledge  that  my 
expectations  were  broad  awake  to  the   most 
vigourous   exertions   of    the   British  govern- 
ment.    I  did  not  doubt  but  the  Genius  of  my 
country  would  arise  and  shake  his  spear. — 
Alas  ! — one  general  was    appointed    upon   a 
principle  of  reconciliation,  and  he  does  not  re- 
concile ;    a  second  is   named,    and  accoutred 
beyond  example,    for  execution,  and  he  exe- 
cutes nothing.     A  third   succeeds,    and  new 
expectations  are  on  the  wing.     Immense  ex- 
penses are  incurred,  the  national  debt  enor- 
mously encreased,    and  no  substantial  advan- 
tages are  obtained.     At  length  my  patience  is 
almost  exhausted  ;  I  begin  to  view  the  indeci- 
sive spirit  of  ministry  in  a  criminal  light ;  and, 
if  some   promising  symptoms  of  a  change  in 
their  measures  do  not  appear  at  the  meeting 
of  parliament,  I  will  repeat  what  I  have  now 
written,    and  much  more,  in  their  very  teeth. 
The  place  I  hold  shall  not  bribe  me  from  let- 


260 

ting  loose  the   angry  spirit  of  my  reproach 
against  them. 

But  another  scene  is  opening  that  is  preg- 
nant with  more  alarm,  and  may  bring  on  a 
contest  more  trying  to  this  nation,  than  the 
trans-atlantick  commotions  and  the  ambition  of 
France.  I  allude  to  the  growing  discontents 
of  Ireland.  You  must  too  well  know  that 
there  are,  at  this  moment,  thirty  thousand  in- 
dependent  men  in  arms  in  that  kingdom,  who 
have  erected  their  own  standards,  and  are 
prepared  either  to  repel  a  foreign  invasion,  or 
to  resist  domestick  tyranny.  The  Irish  have 
long  been  an  oppressed  people ;  but  oppres- 
sion has  not  quenched  their  spirit,  and  they 
have  seized  on  the  present  favourable  moment 
to  demand  justice  ;  nay,  if  they  were  to  de- 
mand more  than  justice,  England  is  not  in  a 
situation  to  refuse  it.  But  of  these  matters  I 
shall  soon  be  better  informed ;  and  you  may 
be  assured  of  being  the  first  repository  of  my 
future  and  more  mature  opinions.  This  is  ra- 
ther a  disheartening  subject.  It  demands  my 
utmost  resolution  to  look  towards  the  storm 
which  is  gathering  in  the  sister-kingdom.  If, 
however,  that  can  be  dissipated,  and  the  bond 
of  peace,  which  is  already  cracked,  be  re- 
stored, my  fears  will  vanish,  and  I  shall  no 


261 

longer  doubt  but  that  Great-Britain  and  Ire- 
land, in  spite  of  American  rebellion,  of  for- 
eign foes,  of  an  indecisive,  timid,  procrasti- 
nating ministry,  and  of  a  noisy,  malicious, 
hungry  faction,  will  work  out  their  own  sal- 
vation, and  close  the  present  contest  with  ad- 
ded glory. 1  am,  &c. 


2G2 


LETTER  LV1L 


I  WILL  endeavour  to  obey  your  com- 
mands, and,  if  possible,  to  compress  my  un- 
prepared reflections  into  the  compass  of  this 
paper.  The  Opposition  is  respectable  for  rank, 
property,  and  abilities  ;  but  it  is  feeble  and 
unimportant,  from  the  narrowness  of  its  plans, 
as  well  as  the  want  of  a  sincere  confidence,  a 
firm  union,  and,  as  I  shrewdly  suspect,  a  gen- 
eral political  integrity  in  the  parties  that  com- 
pose it.  They  all  readily  accord  in  opposition 
to  the  measures  of  government,  but  differ,  notf 
only  in  the  manner,  but  in  the  time  of  exer- 
tion. They  all  agree  to  go  forth  against  the 
enemy  ;  but  each  distinct  body  follows  its  own 

leader,  and  chooses  its  own  mode  of  attack; 
they  never  unite  but  for  the  purpose  of  the 
moment ;  by  which  means,  that  strong-com- 
pacted, lasting  force,  which,  directed  to  one 
point,  and  at  one  instance,  would  scatter  a- 
larm  through  any  administration,  is  frittered 
down  into  a  variety  of  desultory  operations, 


263 

which  wouM  disgrace  the  meanest  ministerial 
apprehension. 

The  warmest  friend  of  government  cannot 
deny,  that  in  the  minority,  "there  are  men  of 
sound  principle  and  proved  integrity.  They 
are  indeed,  but  few  in  number,  and  may  be 
easily  distinguished  from  those  who  are  in- 
fluenced by  the  daemon  of  disappointed  am- 
bition, the  fury  of  desperate  faction,  and  the 
suggestions  of  personal  rancour.  It  has  been 
a  matter  of  surprize  to  many  sensible,  reflect- 
ing persons,  that  the  opposition  did  not  use 
every  possible  means  to  obtain  the  aid  and 
countenance  of  Lord  Chatham's  abilities,  and 
concentrate,  as  it  were,  their  scattered  rays 
in  the  focus  of  that  great  man's  character. 
Under  such  a  leader  they  might  have  acted 
with  effect,  and  knocked  so  loud  at  the  door 
of  administration,  as  to  have  made  every 
member  of  it  tremble,  even  in  the  most  secret 
and  guarded  recesses  of  the  cabinet.  But 
such  a  coalition  was  wholly  impracticable, 
even  if  the  veteran  statesman  had  been  free 
from  those  bodily  infirmities  which  so  seldom 
permitted  him  of  late  to  step  forth  to  any  pub- 
lick  exertion.  If  we  except  Lord  Camden,  there 
is  not  one  of  the  leading  actors  of  opposition, 
who  has  not,  ?.t  some  time  or  other,  calumni- 


264 

ated,  deceived,  deserted,  or,  in  some  manner, 

mis-treated  this  great  man.     Lord  S e's 

oratorical  Echo  made  his  first  entrance  into  the 
house  of  commons  notorious,  by  flying,  as  it 
were,  at  his  very  throat :  and  yet  this  man 
has  been  proud  to  wear  the  armorial  banner 
at  his  funeral.  The  first  day  on  which  the 
Earl  of  Chatham  took  his  seat  in  the  house  of 

peers,  the  Duke  of  R was  forced  to  bow 

beneath  its  reproof  for  insulting  him.     The 

Buke  of  G ,  who,  to  use  his  own  words, 

had  accepted  the  seals  merely  to  trail  a  pike 
under  the  command  of  so  distinguished  a  po- 
litician, when  advanced  to  an  higher  post, 
turned  an  angry  face  against  the  leader  whom 

he  had  deserted.     Even  the  INI of  R 

— ,  when  at  the  head  of  his  short-lived  admin- 
istration, was  vain  enough  to  affect  a  refusal  of 
Mr.  Pitt's  assistance.  The  conduct  of  such 
men,  though  it  might  be  despised,  could  not 
be  entirely  effaced  from  his  mind  by  all  the 
submissive  homage  they  afterwards  paid  him  ; 
and,  though  he  may  have  since  lived  with 
some  of  them  in  the  habits  of  occasional  inter- 
course, you  may  be  assured,  if  his  health  had 
permitted  a  re-entrance  into  the  publick  ser- 
vice, that  he  never  would  have  engaged  in  the 
views  of  men  whom  he  could  not  trust.  The 


265 

ministry,  I  believe,  sent  somewhat  of  an  em- 
bassy to  him,  which  he  treated  with  contempt  : 

and  if  Lord  S e,  in  an  occasional  visit  to 

Hayes,  undertook  a  similar  business,  on  the 
part  of  opposition,  I  doubt  not  but  the  answer 
he  received,  though  perhaps  more  softened, 
had  its  concomitant  mortification.  During  the 
last  years  of  his  venerable  life,  he  seemed  to 
stand  alone ;  or  made  his  communications  to 
no  one  but  Lord  Camden,  whom 

He  faithful  found  among  the  faithless, 

Faithful  only  he. 

The  grave  is  now  closed  upon  that  illustri- 
ous statesman,  and  his  splendid  orb  is  set  for 
ever.  There  was  that  in  his  character  which 
gave  him  a  very  distinguised  superiority  over 
the  rest  of  mankind.  He  was  the  greatest 
war-minister  this  kingdom  ever  knew  ;  and 
the  four  years  of  his  administration  form  the 
most  brilliant  period  that  the  British  annals, 
or  perhaps  those  of  the  world,  can  produce. 
They  who  aim  at  the  diminution  of  his  glory, 
and  that  of  his  country,  by  attributing  the 
rapid  change  of  national  affairs,  under  his  ad- 
ministration, to  chance  and  the  fortunate  cir- 
cumstances of  the  moment,  must  be  slaves  to 
the  most  rooted  prejudice,  the  foulest  envy. 


K    K 


266 

or  the  darkest  ignorance.  To  the  more  bril- 
liant  part  of  his  life,  let  me  add,  that  he  was  a 
minister  who  detested  the  arts  of  corruption, 
set  his  face  against  all  court  as  well  as  cabinet 
intrigues,  and  quitted  his  important  station 
with  unpolluted  hands.  It  is  a  great  national 
misfortune  that  the  mantle  of  this  political  pa- 
triarch has  not  been  caught  by  any  of  his  suc- 
cessors. We  are  not  deficient  in  men  of  ge- 
nius, and  both  houses  of  parliament  give 
daily  examples  of  eloquence  which  Rome  and 
Athens  never  excelled  ;  nevertheless,  there 
does  not  appear  to  be  a  man  in  the  kingdom 
with  that  power  of  understanding,  depth  of 
knowledge,  activity  of  mind,  and  strength  of 
resolution,  sufficient  to  direct  our  harrassed 
empire.  There  are  many  among  us,  who  are 
capable  of  being  second  in  command,  and  fill- 
ing all  the  subaltern  departments  with  ade- 
quate ability ;  but  the  State,  as  well  as  the 
army,  wants  a  commander  in  chief.  The 
truncheon  is  become  little  more  than  an  use- 
less trophy,  as  an  hand  fit  to  grasp  it  is  no 
longer  to  be  found. 

In  bearing  my  poor  testimony  to  the  manes 
of  Lord  Chatham,  I  have  yielded  to  the  im- 
pulse of  my  very  soul.  In  this  imperfect  act 
of  veneration  I  can  have  no  interest,  for  the 


267 

object  of  it  is  gone  where  the  applause  of  this 
world  cannot  reach  him ;  and,  as  I  ventured 
to  differ  from  him  when  alive,  and  delivered 
the  reasons  of  my  difference  to  his  face,  what 
motive  can  there  be  for  me  to  flatter  him  now 
he  is  no  more  ?  To  oppose  the  sentiments  of 
that  venerable  statesman,  was  an  undertaking 
which  shook  my  very  frame.  My  utmost  re- 
solution, strengthened  by  a  sense  of  duty,  and 
the  laudable  ambition  of  supporting  what  I 
conceived  to  be  right,  against  the  proudest 
names,  could  not  sustain  me.  You,  I  believe, 
were  present  when  I  sunk  down  and  became 
silent  beneath  the  imposing  superiority  of  his 
abilities ;  but  I  did  not  feel  it  a  defeat  to  b^ 
vanquished  by  him  : 


•nee  (am 


Turpe  fuit  viuci,  quatn  coulendisse  decorum  esf. 


LETTER  LFIIL 


YOUR  letter  arrived,  most  opportunely, 
to  awaken  me  from  the  slumbering  ennui  of  a 
toilette.  I  was  actually  in  the  power  of  my 
valet  de  chambre,  when  it  came  to  delight,  as 
well  as  instruct  me  ;  and  I  have  proposed  a 
truce  with  powder,  pomatum,  and  papillotes, 
to  encourage  a  thought  which  instantaneously 
arose  from  my  situation,  and  may,  in  its  pro- 
gress, produce  a  suitable  answer  to  your  phi- 
losophick  epistle. 

That  very  important  and  unexpected  events 
arise  from  the  most  trivial  causes,  is  to  be  dis- 
covered in  every  page  of  history,  as  well  as  in 
every  line  of  the  passing  volume  of  life.  Cir- 
cumstances, to  all  appearance,  the  most  incon- 
sequential and  insignificant,  have  not  only  dip- 
ped thousands  of  pens  in  the  bitter  ink  of  con- 
troversy, produced  infinite  envy,  heart-burn- 
ing, and  calumny,  but  have  also  turned  the 
plough-share  and  the  pruning-hook  into  weap- 
ons of  bloodshed  and  destruction. 


269 

Turning  away,  with  alarm,  from  the  sub- 
ject at  large,  which  would  be  little  less  than 
the  history  of  the  world,  permit  me  to  call 
your  attention  to  the  virulent  animosities  which 
have  been  created,  among  a  large  and  power- 
ful part  of  mankind,  in  different  ages,  by  the 
modes  of  dressing  the  hair,  wearing  beards, 
and  weaving  periwigs.  It  is  a  dressing-room 
subject,  and,  being  arrayed  in  all  the  satin- 
dignity  of  a  robe  de  chambre,  I  feel  myself  in- 
spired to  pursue  it. 

It  is  not  with  any  view  to  instruct  you,  that 
I  mention  the  great  veneration  which  in  for- 
mer times  has  been  paid  to  the  hair,  but  to 
give  somewhat  of  order  and  arrangement  to 
the  weighty  matter  under  my  immediate  con- 
sideration. That  the  tresses  of  pious  virgins 
were  thought  an  acceptable  offering  to  their 
tutelary  goddess,  is  well  known  by  every 
classsical  student ;  nor  is  it  less  an  object  of 
common  literary  knowledge,  that  among  the 
Greeks  and  Romans,  the  first  fruits  of  the  hu- 
man temples,  as  well  as  of  the  chin,  were 
claimed,  with  great  ceremony,  by  the  altars 
of  Bacchus,  Neptune,  and  other  presiding 
divinities.  In  later  times,  but  in  the  early 
part  of  our  sera,  (you  perceive  I  write  as  a 
Christian,)  an  oath  was  supposed  to  demand 


270 

instant  conviction,  when  a  man  swore  by  his 
hair ;  and  the  act  of  salutation  was  never  so 
graceful  or  acceptable,  as  when  it  was  accom- 
panied by  the  plucking  an  hair  from  the  head, 
and  presenting  it  to  the  person  who  was  the 
object  of  respectful  attention.  The  offering 
the  hair  to  be  cut,  was  an  acknowledgement 
of  sovereignty,  and  an  acceptance  of  the  of- 
fer was  considered  as  an  assurance  of  adop- 
tion. The  cerf,  or  bondsman,  was  distin* 
guished  by  the  shortness  of  his  hair ;  and  the 
insolvent  debtor,  on  the  resigning  himself  to 
the  future  service  of  his  creditor,  presented 
the  potent  scissars,  whose  instant  sharpness 
was  applied  to  his  flowing  locks,  the  marks  of 
that  freedom  he  no  longer  possessed. 

Long  hair  being  at  this  period  the  distin- 
guishing proof  of  a  gentleman,  and,  of  course, 
an  object  of  great  care  and  attention,  became 
a  subject  for  pulpit- sarcasm ;  and  religious 
oratory  did  not  fail  to  make  the  churches  echo 
with  the  crime  of  toi/efte-assiduity.  At  length, 
however,  some  of  the  younger  clergy,  sigh- 
ing after  the  appearance  of  fashionable  life, 
ventured  upon  the  reigning  mode,  and  gave  a 
new  ton  to  clerical  Coeffure,  which  was  soon 
adopted  by  a  long  train  of  their  complying 
brethren.  This  schism  in  dress  caused  the 


271 

ecclesiasticks  to  turn  the  tide  of  invective  from 
the  lay-world  to  each  other,  and  produced  a 
division  in  the  church,  which  drew  forth, 
through  no  small  period,  the  retaliating  me- 
naces of  damnation  from  the  long-haired  and 
short-haired  clergy.  Saint  Paul,  it  seems, 
who  by  the  perversions  of  his  successors,  has 
been  the  innocent  cause  of  much  uneasiness 
in  the  world,  was  held  forth  as  having,  by 
apostolick  authority,  forbidden  his  own  sex  to 
suffer  their  hair  to  fall  below  the  shoulder, 
and  granted  the  luxuriant  tresses  to  flow  only 
as  a  covering  for  female  charms.  There 
seems  to  be  some  taste  as  well  as  wontonness 
in  the  regulation ;  but,  as  I  do  not  possess, 
among  my  many  hereditary  talents,  the  quali- 
fication to  become  a  commentator  on  the  sa- 
cred writings,  or  the  champion  of  an  injured 
apostle,  I  shall  take  leave  of  the  subject,  and 
proceed  to  another  stumbling-block  of  offence, 
and  angry  source  of  controversy,"  which  the 
human  chin  has  so  amply  afforded. 

The  respect  which  has  been  shown  to  the 
beard,  in  all  parts  of  the  civilized,  and  in 
some  parts  of  the  uncivilized  world,  is  well 
known  to  the  slightest  erudition ;  nay,  a  cer- 
tain prejudice  in  its  favour  still  exists,  even  in 
the  countries  where  the  razor  has  long  been 


272 

omnipotent.  This  impression  seems  to  arise 
very  naturally  from  the  habit  of  associating 
with  it  those  ideas  of  Experience  and  wisdom, 
of  which  it  is  the  emblem.  It  cannot  wait 
upon  the  follies  of  youth;  its  bushy  and  de- 
scending honours  are  not  known  to  grace  the 
countenance  of  early  life  :  and  though  it  may 
be  said,  in  some  degree,  to  grow  with  our 
growth,  and  strengthen  with  our  strength,  it 
continues  to  flourish  in  our  decline,  and  at- 
tains its  most  honourable  form  and  beauty, 
when  the  knees  tremble,  the  voice  grows 
shrill,  and  the  pate  is  bare. 

When  the  bold  and  almost  blasphemous 
pencil  of  the  enthusiastick  painter  has  aimed 
at  representing  the  Creator  of  the  world  upon 
the  canvass,  a  flowing  beard  has  ever  been  one 
of  the  characteristick  and  essential  marks  of 
the  Supreme  Divinity.  The  pagan  Jupiter 
and  the  graver  inhabitants  of  Olympus  would 
not  be  known  without  this  majestick  ornament. 
Philosophy,  till  our  smock-faced  days,  has 
considered  it  as  the  appropriate  symbol  of  its 
profession.  Judaick  superstition,  Egyptian 
wisdom,  Attick  elegance,  and  Roman  virtue, 
have  been  its  fond  protectors.  To  make  it  an 
object  of  dissention,  and  alternately  to  con- 
sider it  as  a  sign  of  orthodoxy  or  the  standard 


273 

of  heresy,    was  reserved  for   the   fantastical 
zeal  of  the  Christian  church. 

In  more  modern  times,  not  only  provincial 
and  national,  but  general  councils  have  been 
convened,  synods  have  been  summoned,  ec- 
clesiastical congregations  and  cloistered  chap- 
ters of  every  denomination  have  been  assem- 
bled, to  consider,  at  different  periods,  the 
character  of  this  venerable  growth  of  the  hu- 
man visage.  Infinite  disputes  have  been,  of 
course,  engendered,  sometimes  with  respect 
to  its  form,  at  other  times  in  regard  to  its  ex- 
istence. Religion  interested  itself,  in  one  age, 
in  contending  for  that  pointed  form  to  which 
nature  conducts  it :  at  a  succeeding  period, 
anathemas  have  been  denounced  against  those 
who  refused  to  give  it  a  rounder  shape ;  and 
to  these,  other  denunciations  have  followed, 
which  changed  it  to  the  square  or  scollop. — 
But,  while  religious  caprice,  (for  religion,  sor- 
ry am  I  to  say  it,  seems  to  be  troubled  with; 
caprices,)  quarelled  about  form  and  shape,  the 
disputes  were  confined  within  the  pale  of  the 
western  church  ;  but,  when  the  beard  lessen- 
ed into  whiskers,  and  the  scythe  of  ecclesias- 
tical discipline  threatened  to  mow  down  every 
hair  from  off  the  face,  the  east  sounded  the 
alarm,  and  the  churches  of  Asia  and  Africa 

L  L 


274 

took  up  the  cause,    and  supported,  with  all 
the  violence   of  argument  and  remonstrance, 
those  honours  of  the  chin  that  they  still  pre- 
serve, and  to  which  the  existing  inhabitants 
of  those  climates  offer  up  a  perpetual  incense. 
In  the  history  of  the  Gallick  church,  (for, 
by  some  unaccountable  accident,  I  have  some- 
times stumbled  upon  a  page  of  ecclesiastical 
story,)  the  scenes  of  religious  comedy  still  live 
in     description. — For    example — a    bearded 
bishop  appears  at  the  door  of  a  cathedral  in  all 
the  pomp  of  prelacy,    and  demands  installa- 
tion to  the  diocese  to  which  he  is  appointed. 
He  is  there  met  by  a  troop  of   beardless  ca- 
nons, and  refused  admittance,  unless  he  will 
employ  the   golden   scissars   they  present  to 
him,    to  cut  that  flowing  ornament  from  his 
face,    which    they  would    think    disgrace   to 
their  own,  as  well  as  to  the  religion  they  pro- 
iess.     This  same  history,  also,  is  not  barren 
of  examples,    where   the   sturdy  prelate    has 
turned  indignant  from  the  disgraceful  propo- 
sal, and  sought  the  enforcing  aid  of  sovereign 
power,  which  has  not  always  been  able,  with- 
out much  difficulty,    to  compel   the  reluctant 
chapter  to  acknowledge  a  bearded  diocesan. 
Others,  unwilling  to  risk  or  delay  the  power 
and  wealth  of  an  episcopal  throne  for  the  sake 


275 

of  a  cumbrous  bush  of  hair,  have,  by  the 
ready  sacrifice  of  their  beards,  been  installed 
amid  acclamations  and  hosannas,  as  disgrace- 
ful as  they  were  undeserved.  It  may  appear 
still  more  ridiculous,  but  it  is  no  less  true,  that 
some  of  these  bishops  have  compounded  the 
matter  with  their  refractory  clergy,  in  giving 
up  the  greater  part  of  the  beard,  but  retaining 
the  growth  of  the  upper  lip  in  the  form  of 
whiskers.  The  idea  of  a  bishop  en  moustaches 
must  trouble  the  spirit  of  a  modern  Christian  ; 
but  such  there  have  been,  who,  in  the  act  of 
sacrificing  to  the  God  of  Peace,  have  exhibit- 
ed the  fierce,  terrifick  aspect  of  a  German  pio- 
neer. 

At  length,  the  persecuted  beard,  which  has 
been  the  object  of  such  faithful  veneration, 
finds  in  our  quarter  of  the  globe,  if  we  ex- 
cept the  corner  of  European  Turkey,  its  only 
asylum  in  the  capuchin  cloister ;  unless  we  add 
the  casual  protection  which  is  given  to  it  by 
the  fanatical  Jew,  or  mendicant  hermit. 

The  wig,  peruke,  o\-  periwig,  with  the  cler- 
ical tonsure,  have  been  the  cause  of  as  much 
ecclesiastical  contention,  as  the  Arian.and 
Athanasian  schisms.  The  last  century  expe- 
rienced all  its  fury,  which  would  not  have 
given  way  to  less  important  events,  than  the 


276 

edict  of  Nantz,  and  the  questions  of 
nius.  The  former  turned  bigotry  to  a  more 
engaging  object,  and  lost  common-sense  in 
astonishment ;  while  the  latter  opened  a  new 
vent  in  the  combustions  volcano  of  religious 
discord. 

The  first  wig  which  is  mentioned  in  history 
was  the  hairy  skin  of  a  goat,  which  the  daugh- 
ter of  Saul  is  related  to  have  employed  to 
save  the  life  of  her  husband.  In  a  succeed- 
ing age,  Zenophon  makes  mention  of  the  peri- 
wig of  Astyages,  the  grandfather  of  Cyrus ; 
and  describes  the  astonishment  which  seized 
the  royal  boy,  on  beholding  his  ancestor  so 
majestically  covered.  Suidas  and  Tacitus  both 
bear  testimony,  that  Hannibal  of  Carthage 
wore  a  peruke,  and  that  his  wardrobe  was 
furnished  with  a  very  large  assortment  of  wigs 
of  all  kinds,  fashions,  and  colours,  not  only 
for  the  purpose  of  magnificence,  but  also 
from  the  policy  which  frequently  obliged  him 
to  change  his  appearance. 

The  Romans,  and  in  particular  the  fash- 
ionable ladies  of  Rome,  had  great  recourse  to 
false  hair.  That  of  a  white  colour  was  the 
ton  in  Ovid's  days ;  and  it  was  imported  from 
Germany  where  it  was  common. 

JNunc  tili  cafltivoi  mittet  Gtrmania  crinci  j 
Culta  triumphal^  munire  gent  is  erh. 


277 

This  courtly,  gallant  poet  is  very  severe  up- 
on the  custom ;  Martial  has  made  it  the  sub- 
ject of  several  epigrams  ;  and  Juvenal  charges 
Messalina  with  wearing  the  adscititious  orna- 
ment of  her  head  to  obtain  concealment  in  the 
pursuit  of  her  debaucheries.     The  ladies  of 
the  present  day  may,  therefore,  shelter  them- 
selves behind  the  greater  extravagance  of  the 
female  Romans.      The  latter  imported  their 
borrowed  locks  from  a  foreign  country,  while 
the  former  are  contented  with  the   spoils  of 
Death  in  their  own,   and   do  not  shudder  at 
mingling,  with  their  own  tresses,  such  as  are 
furnished  by  the  fatal  hand  of  disease  in  hos- 
pitals and  infirmaries. 

Louis  the  thirteenth  of  France,  having  lost 
his  hair,  was  obliged  to  ask,  or,  as  he  was 
king,  I  should  rather  say,  command,  the  com- 
fortable aid  of  a  periwig ;  and  the  necessity  of 
the  sovereign  cut  off  all  the  hair  of  his  fashion- 
able subjects.  Louis  the  fourteenth  annexed 
great  dignity  to  his  peruke,  which  he  increas- 
ed to  an  enormous  size,  and  made  a  lion's 
mane  the  object  of  its  similitude.  That  mon- 
arch, who  daily  studied  the  part  of  a  king,  was 
never  seen  with  his  head  uncovered  but  by  the 
barber  who  shaved  him.  It  was  not  his  prac- 
tice to  exchange  his  wig  for  a  night- cap,  till  he 


273 

was  enclosed  by  his  curtains,  when  a  page 
received  the  former  from  his  hand,  and  deliv- 
ered it  to  him  in  the  morning  before  he  un- 
drew them.  The  figure  of  the  great  Bourbon 
must,  at  times,  have  been  truly  ridiculous. 

But  of  ridiculous  figures had  I  lived  in 

the  reign  of  good  Queen  Anne,  my  thread-pa- 
per form  and  baby-face  must  have  been  adorn- 
ed with  a  full-bottom  periwig,  as  large  as  that 
which  bedecks  the  head  and  shoulders  of  Mr. 
Justice  Blackstone,  when  he  scowls  at  the  un- 
happy culprit  who  is  arraigned  before  him. 
1  It  is,  I  believe,  very  generally  known,  that 
there  is  no  small  number  of  the  Clergy  who 
love  a  little  of  the  ton,  as  well  as  the  ungodly 
lay-men :  the  question,  therefore,  of  wearing 
wigs,  with  the  form  of  ecclesiastical  tonsure, 
became  a  matter  of  bitter  controversy  ;  and  the 
first petit-maitre  of  a  clergyman,  who  was  bold 
enough  to  appear  in  a  wig,  was  called  le  patri- 
arch? des  Ecclesiastiques  emperruq.ues.  At  this 
time  was  published  the  famous  book  in  favour 
of  peri-wigs,  with  the  admirable  title  of  Absa- 
lorn,  whose  melancholy  fate  was  caused  by  his 
hair ;  and  I  remember,  in  the  humourous  ex- 
hibition of  sign-painters,  with  which  I  think 
Bonncl  Thornton  amused  the  town  some  years 
ago,  that  he  adopted  this  idea,  in  a  represent- 


279 

ation  of  the  Jewish  prince  suspended  in  mid- 
air, as  related  in  holy  writ,  which  was  entitled 
A  Sign  for  Peruke-makers.  Tom  JVarton,  of 
Oxford,  wrote  a  little  Latin  jeu  (V esprit  on  the 
subject  of  wigs,  with  their  applications  and  ef- 
fects, of  which  it  concerns  me  to  remember  no 
more  than  that  it  possessed  his  usual  Latinity 
and  classical  humour.  Hogarth  also  em- 
ployed  his  pencil  to  ridicule  the  fall-bottoms, 
especially  the  Aldermanick  ones  of  the  last  cor- 
onation, with  his  accustomed  success.  But  of 
the  histories  that  relate  to  this  subject,  the 
most  extraordinary,  and  which  will  be  hardly 
credited  by  posterity,  is  the  petition  delivered 
by 'the  peruke-makers  of  London  to  his  pres- 
ent majesty,  praying  him,  for  the  benefit  of 
their  trade,  to  resume  the  wig  he  had  been 
pleased  to  lay  aside  :  and  (what  adds  to  the 
ridicule,  as  well  as  the  impudence  of  the  mea- 
sure) I  have  been  informed,  by  a  spectator  of 
their  procession,  that  a  considerable  number  of 
them  actually  wore  their  hair,  though  they 
openly  avowed  the  sacrilegious  wish  to  pluck 
that  ornament  from  the  pate  of  sovereignty. 

In  the  Augustan  age  of  the  Roman  empire, 
the  wit  and  the  satirist  have  employed  their 
different  weapons  against  the  prevailing  atten- 
tions to  the  decorations  of  the  hair ;  and  Sen- 


280 

eca,  in  one  of  his  epistles,  writes  with  solemn 
indignation,  against  the  Roman  toilettes,  which 
he  describes  in  the  precise  form  and  process 
of  our  own.  Some  of  the  fathers  were  equal- 
ly severe  against  the  female  coquettes  of 
their  time  ;  as  their  denunciations  seem  to 
be  more  particularly  levelled  at  the  fairer  part 
of  the  creation.  One  of  them,  in  particular, 
declares,  that  they  who  employ  their  hours  in 
arranging  their  hair,  instead  of  performing  the 
duty  of  Christians,  sacrifice  to  Cotys,  who  is 
the  goddess  of  Impurity,  and  to  Priapus,  who 
is  the  god  of  it.  If  this  be  true,  what  a  more 
than  pagan  age  is  renewed  among  us  ! 

But,  to  conclude  my  unsuspected  learning 
on  this  subject,  I  must  add  the  curious  re- 
proach of  Ttrtitllian  against  the  high  head- 
dresses, as  well  as  the  practice  of  dying  the 
hair,  so  prevalent  in  his  day.  He  concludes 
his. earnest  address,  on  this  subject,  to  the  la- 
dies, by  impressing  on  their  attention  the  sa- 
cred text,  that  we  cannot  make  an  hair  white 
or  black,  or  cause  the  least  addition  to  our  stat- 
ure ;  and  reproaches  them  on  employing  the 
above-mentioned  arts  of  the  toilette  to  effect 
both  these  purposes,  and  thereby  giving  an 
express  lie  to  the  divine  declaration  of  the  gos- 
pel. 


231 

Petit- Maitrdsm  (excuse  a  new-fangled  word) 
lias  existed  at  all  periods,  in  all  countries,  and 
in  every  situation.  Private  peace  has  been 
disturbed  by  it  ;  and  the  spirit  of  Christianity 
has  been  lost  in  its  contentions.  It  found  its 
way  into  the  cloister ;  it  has  accompanied  the 
hermit  in  his  cell ;  and  the  Hottentot  does  not 
escape  its  influence  :  nay,  'the  patriot  Roman 
and  the  hardy  Goth  have  condescended  to  be- 
come coxcombs.  Theodorick,  a  well  known 
Gothick  prince,  is  related  to  have  had  an  of- 
ficer, who,  when  the  barber  had  finished  his 
beard,  was  employed  to  pluck  every  remain- 
ing hair  from  his  face  which  might  interrupt 
its  smoothness.  Ctssar  used  to  say,  that  his 
soldiers  fought  better  when  they  were  perfum- 
ed ;  and,  according  to  Plutarch,  Surena,  gen- 
eral of  the  Parthians,  and  the  bravest  man  of 
the  nation,  painted  his  face.  The  French  do 
not  suffer  the  most  refined  effeminacy  of  their 
toilettes  to  extinguish  their  gallant  spirit,  and, 
at  the  command  of  their  sovereign,  they  rush 
from  all  the  silken  softness  of  luxury,  to  the 
hardships  of  camps,  and  the  dangers  of  battle. 

Whether  you  will  be  of  opinion  with  me, 
that  man  is  a  Petit-Maitre  by  nature,  or,  to 
express  myself  more  philosophically,  a  cox- 
comical  animal,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  have,  in 


282 

the  course  of  these  reflections,  wrought  myself 
so  fully  into  the  belief  of  it,  that,  under  the 
future  operations  of  my  friseur,  I  shall  look 
in  the  glass  before  me  with  the  complacent 
patience  of  a  man,  conscious  that  he  is  acting 
under  the  common  impulse  which  governs  all 
mankind. 

Adieu ! 


283 


MEMOIR 

CONCERNING    THE    LAT1 

LORD  LYTTLETON, 


OF  all  the  men  who  have  been  distinguished  by  any  thing 
great,  worthy,  or  remarkable,  or  who  have  left  any  thing  behind 
them  which  will  transmit  their  names  to  posterity,  no  one,  per- 
haps, is  so  little  known,  or  has  left  us  so  few  memorials  of  his  life, 
as  the  subject  of  this  brief  memoir.  Neither  has  there  lived,  in 
modern  times,  any  other  man  of  eminence,  concerning  whom  such 
a  circumstance  would  be  so  little  regretted.  None  but  the  historian 
who  is  uselessly  and  frivolously  inquisitive,  or  the  author  who  should 
be  constrained  to  publish  his  biography,  would  regret  it  all. 

But  the  means  of  developing  the  mysteries,  which  hang  over  his 
history,  and  the  materials  for  writing  his  life  cannot  be  found  on  this 
side  the  Atlantick  :  and,  that  it  has  not  already  been  written  in  that 
country,  where  alone  it  could  be  faithfully  done,  is  evidence  that  it 
cannot  yet  be  done,  without  either  disagreeably  affecting  some  rela- 
tives or  friends,*  imposing  upon  the  reader,  or  injuring  the  publick. 
For  it  would  seem,  that  such  a  life  as  he  led  would  afford  but  few 
incidents  calculated  to  excite  general  interest,  excepting  what  he  has 
himself  related  in  his  Letters  ;  and  we  are  confident  that  any  thing 
like  a  biography  of  so  young  and  so  profligate  a  Lord  ought  not  to 
be  laid  before  the  publick.  His  character  is  best  drawn  by  himself, 
and  will  be  sufficiently  known  and  understood  by  those  who  read  his 
Letters  and  his  Speeches  in  parliament.  But,  as  all  persons  have  a  kind 

*  On  publishing  his  Letters,  the  names  of  the  persons  to  whom  they  were 
addressed  were  omitted  by  particular  request,  as  ;-.pj><>ars  by  the  Introduction. 
Scoie  Lciurs,  also,  which  alluded  to  certain  trausai:t:oii»  of  his  life,  wue 
•wholly  oioitUd. 


284 

of  literary  curiosity  to  learn  something  concerning  the  origin,  the 
situation,  the  family  and  connexions,  and  the  publick  career  of  any 
one,  whose  deeds  or  whose  writings  have  extorted  admiration  or 
yielded  entertainment  and  instruction — this  short  sketch  of  young 
Lyttleton'b  life  shall  embrace  some  of  these  objects. 

The  late  Thomas,  Lord  Lyttleton,  was  the  only  son  of  the  wor* 
thy  and  illustrious  George,  Lord  Lyttleton,  who  descended  from 
one  of  the  ancient  and  most  respectable  families  in  England.  His 
ancestors  had  possessions  in  Worcestershire,  particularly  a*  South. 
Littleton  (from  which  place  some  antiquaries  derive  the  name,)  as 
long  ago  as  in  the  reign  of  Henry  III.  The  learned  Mr.  Seiden  had 
in  his  possession  two  grants  of  land,  to  wh'ch  one  John  de  Lyttleton 
was  witness  in  1160.  The  great  Judge  Lyttleton,  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  IV,  was  one  of  this  family  •  and  from  him  dc'ccm'ed  Sir 
Thomas  Lyttleton,  father  of  George,  Lord  Lyttleton,  and  grand- 
father  of  Lord  Lyttleton,  the  Younger. 

George,  Lord  Lyttleton,  (for  distinction's  sa\e  sometimes  denorru, 
inated  the  Elder,)  was  born  in  1708,  educated  at  Eton,  and  remov- 
ed to  Christ's  Church,  Oxford;  after  which  he  made  the  tour  of 
Europe,  obtained  a  seat  in  parliament,  distinguished  himself  as  a 
speaker  in  the  opposition,  was  appointed  secretary  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  and  on  the  death  of  his  father  (i;6r)  succeeded  to  the  title 
of  Baronet.  In  1744  he  was  appointed  one  of  the  lords  commis- 
sioners of  the  treasury — in  1754  he  was  made  cofferer  to  his  majesty's 
household  and  privy-counsellor — and  in  1757  he  was  created  a  peer 
of  Great-Britain.  He  rendered  his  name  celebrated,  as  an  author,  by 
his  Persian  Letters,  the  Conversion  and  Apostleship  of  St.  Paul,  Dia- 
logues of  the  Dead,  the  History  of  Henry  the  Second,  and  by  several 
other  ingenious  performances,  among  which  are  seme  fine  and  c'clic;;te 
specimens  of  poetry.  He  was  connected,  on  the  side  of  his  mother, 
with  the  family  of  the  late  Lord  Cobham.  In  174!  he  married 
Lucy,  daughter  of  Hugh  Fortescue,  Esq.  of  Filleigh,  in  the  county 
of  Devon,  a  most  amiable  lady,*  the  sister  of  Lord  Fortescue.  B? 
her  he  had  one  son  (the  subject  of  this  memoir)  and  two  daughters- 
one  of  whom  married  Lord  Viscount  Valentia,  and  the  other  the 
Earl  of  Angitsey. 


*  Her   husband    has  drawn    her   excellent  character,  in  his    Mw.h  on  her 
.    which  happened    in  the  br^inmi  g  of   17tn — \'id«-  Poctica!    Ln  to  iv — 
and  in  his  h-.-crip'.ion   on    her   Mouumeut  —  Vide  hi*   tile  io  Aiucr.  LacKco 
.Urcb,  &c.  &c. 


285 

This  only  son,  Thomas,  was  born  in  1744,  or  the  latter  part  o£ 
1743,  and  was  educated  at  Eton.  Where  his  education  was  finish- 
ed— for  that  he  received  a  liberal  and  finished  one,  his  speeches  and 
letters,  as  well  as  other  records,  evince — we  do  not  know;  but  from 
his  letters  it  appears,  that  he  was  sent  on  the  tour  of  Europe  '*  to 
complete  the  sensible  plan,"  as  he  terms  it,  which  was  to  be  followed 
by  his  marriage.  As  he  does  not  think  proper  to  disclore  "  what 
happened  during  his  travels,"  except  by  hinting  at  it  incidentally,  it 
is  presumed  to  have  been  in  no  wise  creditable  to  himself  or  family. 
And  yet  it  seems  that  only  because  he  had  gotten  into  parliament 
and  made  a  bold  and  flowery  speech,  bis  offended  family  (which  had, 
we  believe,  but  lately  discarded  him,)  received  him  **  with  a  degree 
of  warmth,  delight,  and  triumph,  which  the  brightest  virtue  could 
alone  have  deserved."  Such  was  the  miserable  management  the 
fond  father  and  family  applied  to  an  only  and  darling  son  of  the 
most  extraordinary  promise.  But  on  this  subject  we  refer  the  reader 
to  the  gth  and  nth  Letters  in  this  volume : — there  parents  will  find  a. 
most  solemn  premonition. 

That  such  promising  talents  should  partially  blind  the  eyes  of  af- 
fection is  less  to  be  wondered  at,  than  regretted;  but  that  the  wise, 
the  pious,  the  polished  Lyttleton,  should  suffer  so  hopeful  a  candi- 
date for  his  titles  and  character,  through  profligacy,  to  disappoint 
the  political,  and  to  disgust  the  moral  world,  can  never  be  sufficient- 
ly deplored.  The  brilliancy  of  his  wit,  the  sprightliness  of  his  fancy, 
the  native  force  of  his  intellect,  the  strength  of  his  memory,  the 
extent  of  his  knowledge,  and  the  facility  with  which  he  wrote  and 
conversed  in  the  most  elegant  language,  very  naturally  excited  high 
expectations  among  his  numerous  acquaintance  and  friends — as  the 
following  EPISTLE,  from  the  Hon.  Constantine  John  Pbli>ps%  JTjtf, 
addressed  to  him,  while  in  his  juvenile  years,  will  attest. 

Sprung,   Lyttleton,   from  noble  British  blood, 
Mv  friendship's  honour,  and  life's  greatest  good  3 
Th'n  courts  the  ra'ible  with  obsequious  nod, 
Or,  the  mob's  idol,  deems  himself  a  ^od  : 
lhat  of  th*  unruly  courser  seeks  a  name, 
And  rsks  his  neck,   to  nain  a  jockev's  lanio  : 
Aao  her  tills  with  joy  his  father's  land, 
Or  prunes  the  curling  vine  with  >ki!ful  hand  : 
Some  love  '.he  tented  field,   the  drum,    the  file, 
The  din  of  aims,   the  battle's  bloody  stii'e  : 
Me,  other  can-s,  in  other  climes  engage, 
To  seek  experience  irem  the  battle's  ui.'^e; 
Where  fleets  moot  fleets  in  deepest  conflict  joined, 
Where  Biimkk  Unjuders  aiock  llic  iiapuiliu;;  wind. 


286 

But,  lirn  in  t^rtatfr  character  1o  tFiintf 
And  add  neiu  imlrc  to  a  noble  line, 
Be  thine  the  yrcater  part  in  deejt  d'.batet 
With  steady  counsels  to  uphold  the  state. 
So  thy  great  sire,  skilled  in  each  pubhtk  art, 
•By  virtue  rules,  bv  preiept  guides  the  h;art. 
If  his  commands  submissive  you  receive, 
Immortal  and  unblamed  your  name  shall  live. 
U  '    may  hu  labour  jjaiu  an  hu|>p\  end, 
Make  thee  a  patriot  i><.iod,  and  constant  fr'er>d! 
May  heav'u  show'r  down  its  choicest  blessings  still> 
A  Calo's  virtur,  and  a  Tullv's  (kill 
Mav'st  thou  tiie  first  ol    Britain's  Senate  shine, 
And  be  thy  lather's  name  surpassed  by  thine  ! 

How  lamentable,  that  "  Manhood  did  not  keep  the  promise  of 
Youth" !  Yet  in  manhood,  with  all  his  dissipation  and  mispending 
of  time,  he  rose  far  above  mediocrity,  both  as  a  politician  and  a 
writer.  And,  however  incorrect  he  might  be  in  his  opinion  respect- 
ing the  issue  of  the  war  with  the  American  colonies,  his  political 
principles  were  just  and  well  founded  ;  nor  is  it  by  any  means  im- 
probable, that,  if  the  measures  he  advised  had  been  pursued,  the 
event  would  have  been  as  he  predicted.  And  besides — a  man's  in- 
tentions can  never  be  considered  altogether  censurable,  nor  his  pre- 
dictions weak  or  erroneous,  when  he  is  obliged  to  make  up  his 
opinion  (if  he  have  any  of  his  own)  on  men  and  things  that  are  not 
under  his  observation,  and  are  known  only  by  second-hand  informa- 
tion or  conjecture.  But  where  the  objects  of  his  remarks  and  pre- 
dictions lay  before  him,  he  was  correct,  even  to  prophecy — witness 
his  observations  on  the  character  and  abilities  of  Mr.  Wyndham. 

As  a  man  and  an  author  his  judgment  was  sound  and  penetrating  ; 
his  knowledge  of  the  manners,  character,  and  principles  of  men  exten- 
sive ;  and  his  distinctions  nicely  drawn  and  plainly  defined.  His  wit 
sparkles  without  dazzling,  his  sentiments  enliven  without  inflaming, 
his  knowledge  instructs  without  dictating,  his  independence  of  spirit 
elevates  without  over-awing,  and  his  suavity  interests  without  flat- 
tering. As  an  orator  (a  title  he  was  thought  to  have  deservedly  ac- 
quired in  both  houses  .of  parliament,)  he  was,  except  perhaps  in 
some  few  instances,  bold,  graceful,  and  commanding,  rather  than 
serviceable  and  efficient.  As  a  statesman  his  powers  were  rather  to 
be  dreaded  in  the  opposition,  than  valued  on  the  side  of  the  ministry. 
His  oratory  was  luminous,  rhetorical,  and  pure — some  specimens  of 
which  will  be  found  in  "Chapman's  SELECT  SPEECHES,  Forensick 
and  Parliamentary,"  now  in  the  press  at  Philadelphia, 


287 

In  reviewing  a  speech  of  Mr.  Burke's,  in  favour  of  conciliation 
with  America,  March  21,  1775*  the  London  Reviewers  took  up  one  of 
Lord  Lyttleton's  also,  delivered  May  17,  1775,  against  the  repeal  of 
the  Canada  bill,  and  gave  the  latter  the  preference.  They  observe  that 
Lord  L's  is  as  '•  spirited,  pointed,  and  concise,  as  Mr.  B.'s  is  studied, 
elaborate,  and  diffuse;"  and  add,  that  "Lord  L.  disunguished  him- 
self in  a  manner  by  no  means  unworthy  his  promising  abilities." 
But  we  will  quote  a  few  passages — 

After  remarking  that  his  exordium,  different  from  Mr.  Burke'f,  was 
pertinent,  and  without  affectation,  the  Reviewers  select  the  following 
from  his  speech : 

"  At  the  conclusion  of  this  long  and  laborious  session  of  parlia- 
ment, when  the  unhappy  divisions  subsisting  between  England  and 
America  seemed,  by  the  joint  wisdom  of  both  house?,  to  converge 
towards  conciliation,  I  am  greatly  surprised  that  the  noble  and 
learned  Lord*  should  come  forth  again  to  scatter  abroad  the  seeds  of 
dissention,  and,  not  content  with  that  resistance  to  the  legislature, 
and  to  the  law  of  England,  which  prevails  over  all  British  America, 
should  now  endeavour  to  involve  the  Canadians  in  the  common  re- 
volt ;  establishing  as  a  leading  principle,  by  which  your  Lordships 
may  be  induced  10  repeal  this  bill,  that  those  for  whose  emolument 
Jt  was  made  are  the  most  dissatisfied  with  it — that  they  groan  under 
the  pressure,  and  consider  it  as  a  most  intolerable  grievance — PAINT- 
ING their  dislike  to  it  with  the  strongest  colours  of  rhetorick,  and,  by 
these  groundless  insinuations,  wishing  to  deprive  them  of  all  those 
beneficial  advantages  they  most  gratefully  acknowledge  to  have  re- 
ceived by  the  equitable  system  of  jurisprudence  obtained  from  the 
parliament  of  England. 

"  My  Lords,  however  bright  may  be  the  eloquence,  and  however 
dark  the  purpose,  of  that  noble  and  learned  Lord,  I  trust  he  will 
fail  in  his  attempt  ;  and  though  strong  was  the  arm  that  directed  this 
shaft  against  the  vitals  of  the  constitution,  though  the  point  was  ea- 
venomed,  and,  though  it  was  aimed  at  a  mortal  part,  I  trust,  my 
Lords,  it  will  fall  blunted  to  the  ground,  without  endangering  tlie 
p:ifety  of  the  commonwealth,  or  affecting  the  true  interests  of  the 
kingdom." 

Having  stated,  that  Lord  C.  had  declared  this  bill  to  be  repugnant 
t>»  the  constitution  &c.  he  eays  he  will  remind  his  Lordship,  that 

*  i-orci  CaimJeD. 


233 

this  bill  was  not  framed  for  England,  but  for  a  Conquered  province, 
and  agreeable  to  stipulations  made  and  ratified  between  the  country 
which  conquered  and  the  one  which  has  lost  said  province  :  he  adds, 
••  And  then,  my  Lords,  I  will  go  a  step  further  ;  I  will  meet  the  no- 
bie  Lord  on  his  own  ground  ;  and  I  will  uphold  to  his  Lordship,  that 
the  general  principles  and  policy  of  this  Canada  bill  were  founded  in 
wisdom — that  the  principles  of  it,  which  his  Lordship  affirms  to 
be  repugnant  to  Christianity,  emanated  from  the  gospel,  and  are  co- 
eval with  the  religion  of  our  Saviour  ;  that  they  breathe  forth  the 
spirit  of  their  divine  master ;  for  they  are  neither  principles  of 
popeiy  nor  feivitude — they  are  principles,  my  Lords,  of  toleration, 
unrestrained  by  prejudice,  and  unfettered  by  absurd  and  odious  re- 
strictions. The  inhabitants  of  Canada  were  catholicks  before  they 
were  conquered  by  England  ;  they  are  catholicks  now,  but  under 
the  jurisdiction  of  a  protestant  parliament,  and  under  the  cogni- 
sance of  protestant  bishops,  who  form  a  part  of  that  parliament,  and 
who,  I  believe,  were  unanimous  in  allowing  them  the  free  exer- 
ci:-.e  of  their  religion," 

Having  produced  some  arguments  in  favour  of  his  opinions,  &c. 
he  turns  the  battery  of  his  rhetorick  against  Lord  C.  charges  him. 
with  conduct  less  becoming  himself  than  a  factious  burgher  of  Ge- 
neva, and  proceeds : — 

**  But  we  have  seen  enough  of  republican  government — enough  of 
that  levelling  principle,  which  pulls  down  every  thing,  and  sets  up 
nothing — of  that  furious,  ungovernable  spirit,  which  rises  against  all 
order  and  subordination  ;  which  militates  against  ail  power  which  it 
cannot  invade,  and  would  destroy  all  government  which  it  dots  not 
possess.  My  Lords,  the  constitution  of  England  abhors  all  despo- 
tism :  it  equally  abhors  the  despotism  of  one  man,  and  the  tyranny 
of  the  uncounted  multitude!  The  medium  between  both  is  what  it 
delights  in  : — It  delights  in  freedom,  guarded  and  governed  by  law 
under  the  controul  and  protection  of  the  three  powers  of  the  state, 
king,  lords,  and  commons,  in  parliament  assembled.  But  this  hap- 
py and  most  envied  state,  with  which  God  has  blessed  us,  does  not 
flatter  the  ambitious  purposes  of  the  noble  and  learned  Lord  :  he 
has  therefore  employed  all  his  talents,  and  all  his  learning,  to  conjure 
xip  a  noxious  spirit,  both  in  England  and  America;  a  spirit  which 
assumes  the  fair  form  of  liberty,  that  it  may  more  surely  destroy  le- 
gal and  constitutional  freedom." 

To  this  spirit  his  Lordship  attributes  the  rise  of  the  discontents  in 
America,  and  censures  those  who  excited  it  as  highly  culpable, 


289 

rather  than  the  Americans.  This  spirit,  he  says,  has  roused  the 
colonists  to  opposition,  by  telling  them  "  their  lives  and  properties, 
their  all  was  at  stake — that  the  affair  of  the  ship-money,  in  the  time 
of  Charles  I.  was  a  trifle  light  as  air  to  the  afflictive  despotism,  under 
the  lash  of  which  they  groaned,"  &c.  &c.  He  adds — 

"This  was  the  language  held  forth  within  THESE  walls,  and  from 
THESE  walls  re-echoed  to  America.  It  was  HERE,  my  Lords,  HERE 
that  these  opinions  were  broached :  and  can  you  wonder  at  the  ef- 
fect they  have  produced  ?  Can  you  wonder  that,  urged  on  by  men 
of  such  exceeding  weight,  the  colonists  should  have  taken  the 
alarm ;  or  that  it  should  have  spread,  like  a  pestiferous  disease, 
from  the  mountains  of  New- York  down  to  the  Gulph  of  Mex;co  ? 
To  WHOM  then  are  you  to  ascribe  the?e  disorders  ?  At  WHOSE  door 
then  are  these  calamities  to  be  laid,  which  have  shaken  the  peace  of 
the  kingdom  ?  To  the  misled,  to  the  infatuated  Americans:1  or  to 
the  perfidious  counsellors,  whose  atrocious  policy  has  involved  them 
and  us  in  common  destruction  ?  Is  it  credible,  my  Lords,  that  so 
long  as  the  great  interpreters  of  .the  law  in  this  house,  men  of  supe- 
riour  talents,  and  deeply  versed  in  the  science  of  the  constitution, 
proclaim  aloud  that  their  fellow-subjects  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantick  are  cramped  and  fettered  in  slavery — is  it  credible  that 
they  should  submit  to  any  government,  or  ever  think  themselves  in 
a  state  of  freedom  ?" 

He  was  active  in  parliament  till  his  death  ;  and  the  subjoined  re- 
marks respecting  that  event  advert  to  his  speeches  delivered  the  last 
day  of  his  life — this  we  have  no  reason  to  doubt,  as  we  find  in  the 
journals  of  the  House  of  Lords,  that  two  days  before  his  death,  he, 
together  with  the  Marquis  of  Rockingham,  Lord  Coventry,  and 
others,  opposed  Lord  Chesterfield's  motion  for  an  address  of  thanks. 

Of  his  Lordship's  peculiar  habits,  temper,  and  disposition,  we 
have  but  little  other  knowledge  than  what  is  to  be  derived  from  his 
Letters  and  the  writings  of  those  acquainted  with  him.  We  believe 
he  sometimes  amused  himself,  like  his  father,  in  writing  poetry — 
mostly  gallant  and  complimentary,  we  presume  :  and  in  the  London 
Critical  Review,  for  1780,  we  find  some  notice  taken  of  "  Poems,  by 
aywng  Ncbleman"  which  are  attributed  to  his  Lordship.  Judging, 
however,  from  the  specimens  there  quoted,  we  should  not  think 
very  favourably  of  them,  nor  believe  them  to  be  his.  In  her  Me- 
moirs, Mrs.  Robinson,  after  observing  that  his  Lordship  ore  dny 
presented  her  the  works  of  Miss  Aikin  (since  Mrs.  Barbauld,)  -says, 
N  N 


290 

K  Lord  Lyttleton  had  some  taste  for  poetical  compositions   and 
wrote  vtrses  with  considerable  facility  " 

Mrs.  Robinson,   who   had  sufficient  opportunity  to  know  some- 
thing  of  Lyttleton's  conduct   and  standing  in  the  world,  makes  t>e- 
veral  severe  but  contradictory  observations  on  his  Lordship.     JrL  and 
Captain  Ayscough  were,  at  the  same  time,  presented  to  her  b)  Lord 
Northington ;    and  Lord  Lyttleton   afterwards  introduced  to  her, 
among  other  friends,  some   theatrical   characters,  Sir  Francis  Moli- 
neux,    Alderman  Sayer,    and  the  unfortunate  George  Robert  Fitz- 
gerald.    Of  all  these,  she  says,  Lord  Lyttleton  was  most  decidedly 
her  abhorrence — that   he  led  her  husband  from  the  paths  of  domes- 
tick  confidence  to   houses  of  profligate  debasement — that  he  was 
uniformly  her  aversion — his  manners  were  overbearingly  insolent, 
his  language  licentious,  his  person  slovenly  to  a  degree  that  was  dis- 
gusting, &c.    This  does  not  well  accord  with  a   preceding  remark, 
that  he  "  w,  as  the  most  accomplished  libertine  that  any  age  or  coun- 
try has  produced" — that  "he  was  an  adept  in  the  artifices  of  fash- 
ionable intrigue" — and,  afterwards,  that  his  "  society  had  marked  Mr. 
Robinson  as  a  man  of  universal  gallantry.    We  may,  therefore,  con- 
clude that  she  overstrained  the  d.scription  of  his  manners,  dress,  &c. 
through  resentment  at  his  continued  raillery  towards  her,  as  he  used 
frequently  to  call  her  the  pretty  cbiTd  ;   whereas  Mr.  Fitzgerald  was 
very  attentive  to  women,  took  great   concern  in   her  v\tlfare,  and 
became  her  ardent  admirer  !    No  doubt,    she  preferred  Mr.  F.  and 
hated,  perhaps  misrepresented,  Lord  L. 

Mrs.  R.  also  mentions  "  his  shameless  conduct  to  an  amiable  wife 
from  whom  he  was  separated  :"  but  when  he  was  married  we  do  not 

know  ;  neither  to  whom,  txecpt  that  he  himself  calls  her  Mrs.  P . 

in  his  34th  letter.  Mrs.  R  also  chaige>  him  with  "cruel  neglect  of  a 
lady  by  the  name  of  Dawson,  who  had  long  been  attached  to  him.'r 
This  is  doubtless  the  "amiable  and  handsome  lady,'1  spoken  of  in 
letter  nth,  as  being  "cold  as  an  anchorite." 

Many  vague,  and  probably  fictitious,  stories  have  been  spread 
abroad,  to  make  his  life  and  death  appear  wonderful  and  miraculous. 
The  editor  of  the  Lounger's  Common-Place  Book  (London,  1796,) 
thinks  that  many  of  his  excesses  \\crc  founded  in  that  kind  of  bravado 
only,  which  revelling-  and  vanity  produce  ;  and  he  is  persuaded,  that 
many  reports  about  him  oiiginated  with  one  of  his  infamous  asso- 
ciates. He  says,  also,  it  is  reported  of  Lyttleton,  that  at  12  years  of 
age,  he  declared  with  an  oath,  that  he  would  not  only  be  a  libertine, 


291 

but  a  libertine  destroyed — that  he  had  a  front  which  no  blush  ever 
disconcerted  (hut  there  ought  to  be  one  exception  to  thib  assertion, 
according  to  letter  29th) — that  he  believed  in  the  earthly  visitation 
of  apparition^,  ghosts,  &c. — that  he  would  frequently  ring  his  bell 
with  violence  at  midnight,  for  his  servants,  who  generally  found  him 
sitting  up  in  a  cold  sweat,  with  every  symptom  of  dismay  and  ter- 
rour — and  that  he  would  oblige  one  or  more  of  his  servants  to  bit 
up  with  him  for  the  night,  on  account  of  these  visitation  of  a  guilty 
conscience,  or  a  disordered  imagination,  which  was  produced,  or  at 
least  exaggerated,  by  intoxication  and  revelry.  Such  a  man,  in  des- 
paii  of  a  lost  heaven  and  the  honours  of  an  approaching  hell,  may 
be  baid  to  "  meet  the  ghosts  of  Ins  departed  days,  a  numerous 
train,  who  frown  like  furLs." 

After  all  his  Lordship's  ill  conduct,  we  cannot  but  think,  that  most 
of  his  misbehaviour  is  chargeable  to  the  indulgence  of  his  family, 
and  (to  use  h  s  own  word..)  nut  to  <l  obdurate  and  inflexible  disposi- 
tions inherent  in  his  character. '  We  cannot  discover  in  his  whole 
career  any  rooted  malice  towards  mankind,  any  propensity  to  rebell- 
ion, murder,  publick  or  private  frauds,  or  swindling — but  the  very 
reverse.  Nor  do  we  discover  any  other  motive  in  his  propensity  to 
licentiousness  and  profligacy,  than  the  indulgence  of  inordinate  appe- 
tite, or  a  desire  to  appear  as  wild  and  unrestrained  in  thought,  word, 
and  deed,  as  his  young  and  prodigal  companions.  Inwardly,  and 
with  himself,  he  was  no  libertine,  no  advocate  for  deistical  or  immor- 
al principles,  but  deprecated  such  characters,  paid  secret  homage  to 
opposite  qualities,  and  deeply  lamented  his  want  of  them  in  practice. 
We  refer  the  reader,  among  other  letters,  to  the  jd,  jth,  7'.h,  gth, 
ijth,  24th,  29th,  4ad,  47th,  49th,  jist,  &  jjd.  What  a  lesson  to 
inculcate  strict  family-government,  an  attention  to  the  choice  of  a 
young  man's  associates,  and  to  teach  the  fallacy  of  leaving  a  child  to 
himself  because  he  has  nothing  real!  wicked  in  his  disposition  ! 

All  our  remark?  have  been  founded  on  the  supposition  of  these 
Letters'  being  genuine — which  beems  to  have  been  a  matter  in  dispute. 
The  editors  of  the  Critical  Review,  after  speaking  highly  in  favour  of 
the  Letters,  suggested  the  possibility  of  their  being  the  work  of  some 
other  hand:  and  when  the  zd  volume  appeared,  an  advertisement  is 
said  to  have  been  inserted  in  the  newspapers  by  Lord  Lyttleton's  ex- 
ecutors, declaring  them  spurious  ;  the  truth  of  which  advertisement 
was  never  controverted  by  the  publisher.  The  editor  of  the  Loung- 
e"'j  Common-Place  BOOK,  also,  says,  they  are  the  production  of  Mr. 
£  jinbe,  the  ingenious  author  of  the  Diaboliad ;  and  that  they  are 


292 

exactly  such  as  Lord  L..  wouIJ  have  written.  The  editor  of  the  Port 
Folio  says,  still  "  he  is  very  incredulous"  of  all  this.  The  Letters, 
eays  he,  "  are  certainly  strong  resemblances  of  his  speeches  and 
conversation." 

We  owed  it  to  candour  to  cite  these  passages,  though  we  have  no 
doubts  respecting  the  authenticity  of  the  Letters ;  and  although  all 
this  could  never  affect  the  excellence  of  the  production,  and  on  that 
account  is  of  no  importance  at  all,  yet  the  whole  business  of  the 
before-mentioned  advertisement  looks  very  much  like  a  concerted  plan 
between  the  publisher  and  the  executors,  after  the  fact,  as  the  law 
would  term  it.  Almost  innumerable  reasons  might,  nay  we  should 
say  must,  have  operated  among  Lord  L's  remaining  friends,  acquaint- 
ance, and  correspondents,  to  have  them  declared  spurious,  for  a 
time,  if  not  always — since  they  tad  gotten  abroad,  and  most  prob- 
ably without  the  consent  or  knowledge  of  many  persons  concerned 
or  implicated.  And  there  is  in  themselves  evidence  of  their  gen- 
uineness ;  as  Mr.  Combe  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  relate  all  the 
things,  in  them  related,  and  with  such  exactness  too,  unless  assisted 
by  his  Lordship,  his  papers,  or  some  of  his  family — all  which  is 
wholly  improbable. 

Concerning  the  manner  of  his  death,  various  stories  have  been  told, 
and  told  no  doubt  without  foundation.  In  the  Lounger's  Com.  P. 
Book,  it  is  stated,  that  he  hastened  his  death  by  over-heating  himself 
in  running  or  walking  for  a  wager — and,  that  for  several  days  before 
his  er.d  he  declared  that  an  invisible  hand  had  drawn  open  his  bed- 
curtains,  and  presented  to  his  sight  a  fluttering  dove.  The  first  we 
think  a  mistake ;  and  as  to  the  last,  it  is  sufficient  to  know,  that  all 
the  last  days  of  his  life  and  much  of  his  evenings  (even  to  a  few 
Lsurs  before  Lis  death)  Were  sptnt  in  parliament,  or  among  his  gay 
companions. 

From  the  Gentlemen's  Magazine,  for  December,  1779*  we,  there- 
fore, extract  the  following,  as  the  most  rational,  candid,  and  authcn- 
tick  Accoutit,  which  has  yet  been  published,  concerning  this  event. 

"ANECDOTES  AND  REMARKS  RISPECTING  THE  SUDDEN  DEATH 
OF  THE  LATE  LORD  LYTTLETON. 

THE  vtry  extraordinary  circumstances  that  preceded  the  disso- 
lution of  the  young,  the  gay,  the  dissipated  Lord  Lyttleton,  when 
they  first  appeared  in  print,  soon  after  his  death,  were  generally  con. 
sidered  as  the  productions  of  some  enthusiastick  brain,  ever  ready 
to  construe  all  striking  iirpiessions  on  the  rr.li.ds  of  men,  who  have 


293 

led  a  life  of  vice  or  fully,  into  extraordinary  interpositions  of  Provi- 
dence to  promote  the  teformation  of  the  hardened  sinner;  and  to 
alarm  a  volatile,  unthinking,  giddy  race  of  people,  who,  following 
the  tide  of  luxury  and  sensuality,  are  easily  seduced  into  a  denial  of 
the  existence  of  a  superintending  Providence,  or,  if  not  so  far  advan- 
ced on  the  road  of  infidelity,  at  least  forget  that  there  is  a  God. 
Considered  in  this  point  of  view,  it  is  no  wonder,  in  an  age  like  this, 
when  philosophy,  instead  of  being  the  handmaid  to  truth,  is  the  pros- 
tituted mistress  of  atheism  and  impiety,  that  everv  report  con- 
cerning the  previous  warning,  given  to  his  lordship  in  a  dream,  of  his 
approaching  end,  was  received  by  the  publick  as  an  idle  tale,  and 
made  the  standing  jest  of  all  the  polite  assemblies  in  town. 

At  length,  however,  the  following  anecdote,  so  well  attested  that 
not  a  shadow  of  doubt  remains  of  its  authenticity,  has  given  birth  to 
a  variety  of  speculative  opinions  on  the  nature  of  that  impression  on 
his  lordship's  mind,  which,  from  the  time  of  his  communicating  his 
dream  to  within  an  hour  of  his  death,  certainly  was  too  strong  to  be 
subdued  either  by  the  strength  of  a  fine  natural  genius,  the  force  of 
reason  improved  by  a  liberal  education,  01  the  surrounding  pleasures 
which  affluence  and  elevated  rank  can  always  command,  when  their 
aid  is  wanting  to  dispel  the  gloom  of  melancholy  reflections. 

Having  given  the  fact,  as  it  now  stands  confirmed  by  the  evidence 
of  persons  of  character,  we  shall  submit  to  our  readers  some  free 
thoughts  upon  the  subject,  and  shall  esteem  it  as  a  favour  if  our  cor- 
respondents will  take  up  this  interesting  theme,  and  communicate 
their  opinions,  illustrated  by  any  similar  anecdotes  withinthe  compass 
of  their  own  knowledge. 

On  Thursday  morning,  the  25th  of  November  last,  his  lordship 
mentioned  at  breakfast  to  Mrs.  Flood  (a  widow  lady  who  lived  with 
him  as  companion  to  the  Miss  Amphletts,  his  nieces,)  that  he  had  pass- 
ed a  very  restless  night ;  that  he  thought  he  had  heard  a  fluttering 
noise  in  the  room  ;  and  that  immediately  after  he  fancied  he  saw  a 
beautiful  lady,  dressed  in  white,  with  a  bird  on  her  hand,  who  desir- 
ed he  would  settle  his  affairs,  for  that  he  had  but  a  short  time  to  live. 
On  his  enquiring  how  long,  the  vision  answered,  "  Not  three  Jajs." 
His  lordship  mentioned  this  dream  frequently,  but  with  an  affected 
air  of  careless  indifference,  which  only  showed  that  it  had  made  a 
stronger  impression  on  his  mind,  than  he  chose  to  acknowledge. 
On  Saturday  evening  he  pulled  out  his  watch,  observed  that  it  was 
half  past  ten,  and  that  he  had  still  an  hour  and  an  half  longer  to  live, 
4»d  jocosely  chucking  under  the  chin  one  of  the  young  ladies  (hia 


294 

nieces)  danced  about  the  room,  and  asked  her  if  she  did  not  think 
he  should  get  over  it,  and  live  beyond  the  time  predicted  for  his  death. 
Soon  afterwards,  however,  he  went  to  bed,  complained  of  an  unea- 
siness in  his  stomach,  and  while  his  servant  was  mixing  a  cup  of  rhu- 
barb and  pepper  mint-water,  a  medicine  which  he  frequently  took,  ex- 
pired. It  was  remarkable,  likewise,  that  his  lordship  endeavoured  to 
account  for  his  having  dreamed  of  the  bird,  by  saying  that  a  few 

days  before,  being  in  his  green-house,  at  Pitt  place,  with  Mrs.  D , 

he  had  taken  some  pains  to  catch  a  robin,  which  had  been  shut  in, 
and  which  he  had  set  at  liberty. 

The  methodists  and  the  quakers  look  upon  the  dream  in  this  case, 
together  with  its  effect  on  his  lordship's  mind  and  the  accomplishment 
of  the  prediction,  as  one  of  those  singular  manifestations  of  his  power 
over  men,  which  God  is  pleased  to  make  from  time  to  time,  in  order 
to  strike  conviction  home  to  the  hearts  of  infidels  and  voluptuaries. 
Proper  subjects,  say  they,  are  likewise  chosen  for  these  supernatur- 
al exertions  of  Providence  ;  persons  whose  exalted  station  in  life,  uni- 
versal acquaintance,  and  known  dissipation  make  the  example  more 
awful  and  alarming  to  a  gay  world.  Sermons  have  been  already 
preached  to  enforce  this  doctrine  on  the  strength  of  this  recent  in- 
stance, and  the  celebrated  female  speaker,  Mrs.  K ,  is  expected  to 

deliver  an  excellent  oration  to  the  brethren  and  sisterhood  in  Grace- 
church-street,  upon  this  subject,  wherein  she  will  take  occasion  to 
demonstrate  the  divine  intercourse  between  the  Supreme  Being  and 
the  spirit  of  man,  from  which  will  be  deduced  the  favourite  doctrine 
of  the  operations  of  the  spirit,  the  chief  tenet  of  the  quakers. 

Others,  who  are  inclined  to  think  seriously  upon  the  subject,  but 
at  the  same  time  cannot  subscribe  to  the  opinion  that  there  is  any 
thing  miraculous  in  the  circumstance  of  the  dream,  or  of  his  lord- 
ship's subsequent  death,  account  for  the  whole  from  physical  causes. 
They  maintain,  that  his  lordship  having  been  in  a  bad  state  of  health 
for  nine  months  past,  and  labouring  under  an  inward  complaint 
which  weakened  his  nerves,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  was  subject  to 
restless  nights  and  uneasy  dreams.  His  gcncial  complaint  was  a 
pain  in  his  stomach,  and  his  usual  medicine,  a  dose  of  rhubarb  in 
mint-water.  His  teal  disorder  was  a  polvpiu  on  the  heart,  described 
to  be  a  quantity  of  coagulated  blood,  contained  in  a  erst  or  bag,  on 
the  burbling  of  which,  immediate  death,  the  natural  consequence, 
emitted. 

Let  us  now  reason  candidly  upon  all  these  circumstances:  is  it  not 
weil  known  that  frequent  return  of  paius  in  the  stomach  biing  on 


295 

great  dejection  of  mind,  or  what  is  called  low  spirits  ?  It  is  natural 
to  suppose,  that  the  gayest  man  upon  earth,  in  such  a  situation, 
will  turn  his  thoughts  upon  the  past  disagreeable  events  of  his  life, 
and  that  if  any  crime,  of  which  he  is  conscious,  occurs  to  his  recol- 
lection, it  will  serve  only  to  increase  the  melancholy  frame  of 
his  mi'.jd ;  the  generous  design  of  making  retribution,  the  impossi- 
bility of  doing  this,  in  some  cases,  reflections  upon  death,  which 
break  in  upon  every  valetudinarian  (whatever  may  be  his  religious 
opinion-,)  all  contribute  to  stir  up  the  \var  within.  Thus  distemper- 
ed in  mind  and  body,  accustomed  to  palliative  relief,  the  voluptuary, 
upon  the  first  interval  of  pain,  repairs  to  the  banquet,  and  indulges 
to  excess..  Repletion  causes  a  return  of  the  disorder,  perhaps  in  a 
lesser  degree,  permiting  exhausted  nature  to  seek  for  recruiting 
strength  from  that  universal  restorative,  balmy  sleep  ;  but  this  relief 
being  interrupted  by  indigestion,  perturbating  dreams  are  the  conse- 
quence— dreadful  struggles,  between  the  active  spirit,  imagination, 
mind,  or  whatever  you  are  pleased  to  call  it,  and  the  encumbered 
body,  prevail — more  horrid  to  sensation  than  words  can  describe : 
few  there  are,  young  or  old,  who  have  not  laboured  under  these 
horrours,  vulgarly  called  the  night-mare,  afttr  eating  hearty  suppers. 
What  are  the  subjects  that  distract  the  man  in  these  dreadful  con- 
flicts ?  Are  they  not  familiar  occurrences  of  his  life  ?  The  horseman 
is  flung  from  his  seat,  dashed  on  the  pavement,  the  blood  gushes 
from  every  vein,  the  struggle  to  recover  awakens  the  terrified  drtam* 
cr:  he  doubts  for  a  few  minutes  whether  the  scene  was  not  real, 
and  dreads  to  close  his  eyes  again,  lest  the  imaginary  vision  should 
return.  Another  is  attacked  by  a  favourite  dog  or  cat,  and  seems 
to  feel  the  teeth  or  talons  of  these  furious  animals.  In  short,  not  to 
dwell  upon  the  variety  of  shapes  which  this  midnight  disorder  as- 
sumes, let  us  only  add,  that  the  seducer  of  women  will  in  his  turn 
be  visited  by  the  imaginary  appearance  of  the  injured  female  :  the 
agitated  mind  and  the  diseased  body  may  work  this  up,  in  one  of 
these  nocturnal  phrenzies,  into  confused  combinations  of  occurren- 
ces. Mrs.  D ,  representing  the  green-house  occurrence,  and  the 

bird,  the  confined  fluttering  robin— with  these  might  be  intermixed 
(for  the  person  in  these  dreams  often  changes  in  the  instant,  some- 
times we  fancy  it  one,  and  then  another,)  some  other  female  form, 
unhappily  ruined,  which  assails  the  dreamer,  and  intimates  what  is 
most  likely  to  strike  the  seducer  with  terrour,  at  his  speedy  dissolu- 
tion. Awakened  at  this  scene  of  terrour,  the  idta  of  some  fixed  time 
easily  intrudes  itself  on  the  disturbed  imagination,  and  leaves  a  last- 


296 

ing  impression  t  just  the  same,  and  no  more  than  that  which  hag 
urged  a  man  to  give  a  premium  for  a  particular  lottery-ticket  which 
he  has  dreamed  of  so  perfect  as  to  remember  the  number,  and  that 
it  was  drawn  a  capital  prize. 

The  very  evening  after  the  dream,  Lord  Lyttleton  in  his  weak  state 
exerted  himself  in  two  speeches  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and  returned 
home  quite  exhausted:  what  other  fatiguing  voluntary  exertions 
he  imposed  upon  himself  the  next  day  we  know  not ;  but  it  is  a  fact, 
that  he  ate  a  very  hearty  supper  on  the  Saturday  evening,  that  the 
impression  upon  his  mind  of  his  approaching  death  still  affected  him, 
that  in  this  situation  the  pain  in  his  stomach  returned,  too  violent 
to  permit  him  to  take  his  usual  medicine,  or  to  go  off  in  a  confused 
dream.  The  pressure  of  the  burthened  stomach  bore  too  heavy  on 
the  polypus,  and  the  discharge  killed  him  almost  instantaneously. 

We  s>ee  nothing  supernatural  in  all  this,  and  could  we  possibly  ad- 
mit that  the  Supreme  Being  occasionally  steps  out  of  the  line  of  the 
ordinary  operations  of  his  prov  idence  in  the  regular  course  of  nature, 
we  should  suppose  it  would  be  to  furnish  more  general  examples  of 
bis  omnipotence  and  mercy,  which  must  inevitably  have  an  effect 
on  whole  bodies  of  people  ;  on  the  conduct  of  nations  ;  and  produce 
general,  not  particular  changes. 

Montezuma  and  his  subjects,  by  such  an  interposition,  would  have 
avoided  those  horrid  cruelties  under  which  they  slowly  expired,  when 
the  Christian  Spaniards  conquered  Mexico  :  or  the  innocent  victims 
of  a  bloody  inquisition  would  have  been  saved,  while  the  pretended 
holy  inquisitors  had  been  destroyed  by  fire  from  heaven.  But  as  we 
have  no  right  to  expect  miracles  of  this  nature,  it  is  miserable  super- 
stition to  believe  that  they  exist  for  less  important  purposes. 

Finally,  let  it  be  remembered  that  men  of  apparently  vigorous  con- 
stitutions and  sound  judgments  have  been  killed  by  the  force  of  ima- 
gination ;  and  in  Lord  Lyultton's  case,  if  imagination  had  any  force, 
disease  of  body  co-operated  at  the  same  time  to  hasten  his  dissolu- 
tion." 


Lord  Lyttltton,  the  Elder,  died  in  July,  1773,  on  which  event 
young  Lyttleton  succeeded  him  in  his  titles  and  estate.  The  death 
of  the  Younger  Lyttleton  happened,  as  mentioned  above,  Nov.  oj, 
1779,  when  he  was  about  15  years  of  age — with  him  his  titles  became 
extinct.  A  more  appropriate  epitaph  could  not,  perhaps,  be  inscribed 
on  his  tomb,  than  this  by  the  editor  of  the  Port  Folio— 

"  IN    CENITS   AND   VICE   A  PARAGON." 


SiUBRARYQ/r 


University  of  California  Library 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 

Phone  Renewals 
310/825-9188 

AC  MAY  01 2001 


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